First Steps
by WhompingWillow
Summary: Post OotP: Harry's survived a difficult summer threatened by Death Eaters and magical creatures. Now with the school year approaching, the real adventure begins. Sixth-year, don't be fooled by tricky start ch1
1. Changes

Title: First steps

Author: _Whomping Willow _~ 

E-Mail: JeanneL229@aol.com

Rating: PG (for violence)

Summary: It's the summer after Harry's fifth year and the little chat at King's Cross between the Order and Harry's relatives didn't make quite the impact they were hoping for. Harry is a survivor and will have his chance to prove it when Voldemort attacks and his relatives become the least of his worries. He'll take his first steps to dealing with the grief and guilt the fifth year left behind. It's going to be an eventful sixth year for Harry Potter. WIP

Disclaimer: All characters are the sole possession of J.K.Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter, and have no chance of profiting from this. I'm just playing in J.K.R.'s playground and I invited all of her friends. 

Chapter one: Changes ~

***

His footsteps were quiet, on the cool stone . . . the long dim corridor of the Department of Mysteries stretched before him once again. He was walking slowly, approaching the plain black door. A torch flickered beside him and his pace quickened, increasingly determined to reach his destination. The black door swung open before him. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped into the circular room, blue-flamed candles illuminated its many unmarked doors. Continuing straight across the room, through the second door without hesitation, he broke into a run. Patches of sparkling light danced on the walls and floor blurring as he hurried through to the third door which opened instantly before him . . . 

Once again he was in the cathedral-sized room full of shelves covered in dusty, glass spheres . . . heart pounding . . . number ninety-seven . . . turning left he hurried down the aisle . . .

There on the floor . . . a black shape – a man, making pained movements on the cold stone . . . fear and excitement mingled within him . . . he moved closer still . . .

His voice commanded, high and cold, "Give it to me . . . take it down now . . . I cannot touch it, but you can . . . I must have it . . ." 

The black shape shifted, stubbornly not moving toward the shelves. Harry raised his arm. Long cold fingers clutching a wand of Yew, aimed steadily at the shape . . . the voice ice cold exclaimed, "_Crucio_!"

The man on the floor cried out in pain, crumpled and writhing before him. Harry was laughing. He raised his wand and lifted the curse. Released temporarily from the torment, the man stilled sucking deep breaths . . . his only sign of life.

"Lord Voldemort is waiting . . . "

The man on the floor trembled still crumpled on the ground and raised his bloodstained face, pained and angry . . .

"You'll have to kill me," whispered Sirius, his voice hoarse, from screaming.

"Yes, but not just yet," spoke the cold voice. "There is still much to accomplish. You will fetch it for me . . . and then perhaps I will let you die, but first . . . " Voldemort lowered his wand once again . . . taking aim at the man crumpled before him . . .

*** 

  
Harry awoke in the Great Hall screaming and disoriented. He missed the concerned stares of those around him as well as the voice of the professor calling to him. Scar burning, he picked himself up off the floor and fled the room.

Dashing through the corridors avoiding questioning onlookers, praying he was not being followed, he made his way to the Gryffindor tower. He spat the password at the disgruntled portrait, racing through and up the stairs to his dorm slamming the door shut behind him. He dug in his trunk until his hands found the brown paper wrapped mirror Sirius had given him at Christmas, safely tucked under a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

Desperate for answers he shouted into the mirror, "Sirius! Sirius!" Please, please be all right he begged silently. After a long moment he was rewarded with the image of his godfather's worried face. 

"Harry, what's wrong? Did something happen?" Sirius asked.

"Thank God. You're safe! Where are you?" Harry asked.

Seeing the tears welling in his eyes, Sirius could tell something bad had happened to upset Harry like this. 

"Same place as always, kid. I'm just tending to Buckbeak." The hippogriff lay on the floor behind him, leg wrapped in bandages. "He managed to hurt himself somehow. I'm just patching him up. Now what's got you all worked up? It's not Snape again, is it?"

"No," Harry responded somewhat soothed by the news that Sirius was safely hidden at headquarters. "I fell asleep during my History of Magic exam and had a vision that you were in danger."

"Have you told anyone about it yet?" Sirius asked.

"No, I just left the exam without telling anyone. Besides who is there here to tell? Dumbledore is in hiding, McGonagall is at St. Mungo's and Snape would just mock my lack of Occlumency skills." He sighed. "I guess everything is all right, as long as you promise not to leave for any reason."

Sirius thought it over for a moment. "I still think we need to tell someone about this. I'll see if I can find Dumbledore. Keep the mirror close. He may need to speak with you himself."

Harry tucked the mirror safely into his pocket just as Ron and Hermione burst into the room with anxious looks on their faces.

"Harry! What happened? Why did you just run off like that?" They said, scarcely pausing to catch their breath. "Are you all right? Are you ill?" Hermione asked adding, "Think about what that will do to your O.W.L. score."

Harry rolled his eyes at that last one, but answered calmly, "I had a vision that Voldemort had captured Sirius . . . was torturing him . . . it was terrible. There was no way I could stay and finish the exam. I needed to know for sure."

"And?!" They questioned, in unison.

"He's safe. I just spoke with him and he promised not to leave headquarters," he said, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Harry, I thought you weren't having those visions anymore," demanded Hermione.

Just then Sirius' voice called out from his pocket. "Harry?" He pulled out the mirror and shushed his friends as they began to talk nervously over what the vision could mean.

"Right here," he replied with a lopsided grin.

"Who's that I hear with you? You best put up some silencing charms to be safe."

"It's just Ron and Hermione, but I will just in case someone else comes in." Harry excused himself ducking into his bed closing the curtains and setting the necessary charms to ensure privacy.

"Did you find him?" he asked and Dumbledore's face soon replaced Sirius' before him.

"Sirius tells me you had another vision and it upset you quite a bit."

"Yes sir," he swallowed nervously. "I wasn't expecting to fall asleep during my History of Magic exam and – er – I'm not doing very well with Occlumency," he admitted sheepishly, "so I had another vision."

"Care to tell me more about it. Sirius was rather vague."

"Of course Professor," he replied. He explained about the dreams about the Ministry of Magic, the room filled with shelves and glass spheres and finally about Sirius being tortured and ordered to take one off the shelf. All the while Dumbledore remained silent. His expression was sad and there was little twinkle left to his eyes. Finally he spoke.

"I'm sorry, my boy. I have made a terrible mistake. I have something to tell you – I've been waiting for the right time and I realize now, that time has come."

Harry ran his hand through his hair worried what could make Dumbledore look so grim. As he did so, something caught the Headmaster's attention.

"Harry, hold your hand up closer to the mirror. I'd like a better look at the back, if you will."

Harry looked at the back of his hand and blanched when he realized what the Headmaster had seen. Sometimes he could still feel it ache when the water hit it in the shower or if he held his quill too tight. He slowly held up his right hand for inspection. The still pink scars clearly read "I must not tell lies."

After further inspection the Headmaster asked, "Who did this Harry?" His expression, if possible was even more grave than before.

"It was Professor Umbridge, sir." He admitted quietly. "She makes us use a special quill during detentions – writing lines. It carves the words right into your skin." 

"Us? You mean she has done this to others as well?!" Dumbledore was livid. "Why didn't you tell someone?"

"Yes, I'm not the only one. As for why I didn't say anything . . . I know it's dumb, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to me."

Dumbledore just nodded his understanding. Before they could say more, Ron alerted Harry that Professor Umbridge was on her way up to see him. Without another word Harry jumped out of the bed and stashed the mirror back in his trunk hoping that the Headmaster and Sirius hadn't heard Ron's warning on the other end.

***

Harry looked to the doorway knowing where the sound came from. It was the call of the toad-faced Headmistress Professor Umbridge ("Hem, hem"), "Mr. Potter, you will come with me," she croaked in her little-girlish voice.

"Is there anything wrong?" Harry asked innocently, knowing full well what she was there about.

"We shall discuss your latest infractions in my office." There was a bitter edge to her voice and a dangerous gleam in her eye as she grabbed his arm tightly and led him out of the room. 

***

She did not waste any time, upon arriving in her office she locked the door behind them and began her interrogation. 

"So Mr. Potter, what did you find so urgent that you felt you needed to disrupt an entire hall full of students during O.W.L. exams? Your screaming and abrupt exit were hardly fair to the other students who - were - trying - to - concentrate, don't you think? I do believe your fellow students deserve an explanation, as do I." Her tone was cold as were her eyes. "And," she continued, "if I'm not satisfied with your answers I shall be calling Professor Snape for a bit of _encouragement_." She smiled at that and waited for a response.

Harry straightened up a bit, took a deep breath and replied, "Well Professor, I had a bit of pain and got all queasy. I thought I was going to be ill, so I left. Must've been nerves or something."

She looked at him for a long moment before nodding, with a smile so wide on her toad like face she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly tasty fly. "All right if that is the way you want to play, I'll just call Professor Snape." She walked to the fire, threw in a pinch of floo powder and called "Professor Severus Snape." Several minutes later Professor Snape's head appeared in the grate.

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?"

"Yes, I did. I need you to bring me another bottle of Veritaserum, as soon as possible, please."

"Another? I already gave you a full bottle to interrogate the Potter boy. What happened to that one? Surely you didn't use it all so soon." 

She flushed slightly. "Don't you have more? This little trouble maker is up to something. I am sure of it. I need answers, now!"

"I told you only three drops. That was my last bottle and it is complicated to brew. I'm afraid you will simply have to come up with another means of getting your answers from the boy." His gaze drifted to the spot where Harry stood silent and sneered.

"Any suggestions . . ." she inquired. "One such as yourself must have acquired a few _tricks_ over the years." 

Turning back to the Headmistress, Snape's eyebrow arched. "I believe, that it would be best to keep our _tricks_ to ourselves. When dealing with the likes of Potter, you have to throw away the book. Now, if that is all?" She nodded reluctantly and his head disappeared from the fire.

"Dear me – how shall I manage to loosen that tongue of yours . . . perhaps I could persuade the dementors to pay you another visit, they were so eager last time . . ."

Harry gasped. "You – you sent the dementors after me last summer?"

"Well somebody had to do something. Everyone in the Ministry was looking for a way to silence you, only I had sense enough to act. Cornelius wasn't about to do anything on his own. I think if he knew he would thank me." Her lips formed a cruel smile. "Don't worry yourself about how to spread that tale – one little Obliterate and you won't remember a thing . . . "

"I think I've heard enough," said Cornelius Fudge as he strode into the room flanked by Arthur Weasley and two Aurors. "Arrest her," demanded Fudge. "You can start the list of charges with illegal use of Veritaserum on a minor – orchestrating an attack of dementors in a Muggle neighborhood and cruel and unusual punishment. We heard it all, Dolores, your days at this school are through."

Turning to face Harry as Umbridge continued to splutter behind him, Arthur Weasley asked, "Are you all right Harry?"

Harry nodded dumbly. "What are . . . how did you . . . ," temporarily at a loss for words.

"Anonymous tip." Mr. Weasley replied with a wink.

Harry watched as the still spluttering Professor was escorted out of her office. Fudge paused only briefly to apologize to Harry, as he tried desperately to find a way to minimize the Ministry's involvement in the whole fiasco.

The days till the end of term flew by at an unbelievable pace. Professor Dumbledore was returned to his rightful post as Headmaster and Professor McGonagall was released after a speedy recovery in St. Mungo's. Even Hagrid reappeared safe and sound. 

Harry met with Professor Dumbledore for a long overdue chat, where the Headmaster revealed the reason for the dreams that had been plaguing him since the summer before. The Prophesy was finally revealed and it became obvious to all involved that Voldemort had been planting the dreams in order to trap Harry in the Department of Mysteries and finally hear the full Prophesy for himself.

With a promise to work hard on his Occlumency studies and to stay inside where it is safe, Harry packed his things and boarded the train bound for King's Cross with his friends. Upon arrival they said their goodbyes and promised to write as much as possible.

Stepping off the train, Harry was immediately greeted with an enormous hug from none other than his godfather, accused murderer and escaped convict, Sirius Black. "What are you doing here?" Harry hissed without breaking the hug. "Do you want to get caught?"

Sirius laughed, eyes sparkling like never before. "I wanted to surprise you – it seems I succeeded. You see, the night that you had your last vision we sent order members to the Ministry of Magic to see if we could catch Voldemort in the act. Unfortunately he wasn't there himself, but a certain _rat_ managed to get himself caught. I've just been cleared of all charges. No more Dursleys – you are coming home with me."

Harry tightened his grip on his godfather, eyes brimming with tears. "Home . . . for real? You're really free?" His voice was choked with emotion and the tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Yeah kiddo," he said, tightening the hug even further, "I'm really free." 

His arms began to dig painfully into Harry's sides and his squeaked protest for air went unheaded. The ache grew more uncomfortable by the moment and he tried to pull back to gain some space, but the more he backed off, the tighter the grip became. Soon the tears spilling down his cheeks were from mingled pain and joy. Is this what they mean by 'love hurts'? He whimpered hoping that Sirius would get the message that enough is enough. They were causing a scene and he wanted to go home, but the grip seemed tighter still. 

Someone was laughing lightly nearby. It was a strange sound, high and tight. It was getting louder, almost insistent . . . not quite laughing . . . almost like tapping . . . tapping . . . 

His eyes flew open in the darkened room, focusing slowly. His thin blankets were wrapped painfully tight around his body. Tear tracks still fresh on his cheeks were quickly renewed. Memories flooded his aching head. 'It was just a dream,' he choked back a sob . . . 'Sirius is dead,' the words echoed silently in his head. Struggling free from the prison of blankets he went to let Ron's owl Pigwidgeon in the window to stop his enthusiastic tapping before it could wake anyone else.

One whispered word escaped his lips along with a flood of tears . . . "Sirius . . . "

***

When morning came, Ron's letter lay abandoned on the desk, all his well wishes and kind words forgotten. Pig had been sent off almost immediately with a hastily scrawled note assuring all that he was still alive. He made no mention of the dreams and was careful that he left no sign of tears on the parchment. (No need to make them worry after all).

Harry sat cross-legged on the bed – elbows on knees – head in hands. He tried to be strong, but the dream renewed the ache of guilt in his heart. '_If only_ . . . ' Those were the words that seemed to start every thought. '_If only_ I had listened to Hermione . . . ', '_If only_ I had tried harder at Occlumency . . . ', '_If only_ Dumbledore had told me about the Prophesy . . . ', '_If only _I had used the mirror . . . ' The list went on and on. Things could've been different. They should have been different.

Surely he was not the only one to blame – Dumbledore, Kreacher the treasonous house-elf and Voldemort . . . many had a hand in it, if truths be told, but still the guilt weighed heavy on his soul. No matter how he tried to busy himself with chores and homework, the feelings pushed themselves into his conscious mind. He even tried meditation in the quiet hours between dinner and bed, but the painful thoughts that entered his relaxed mind often denied him sleep. Better to lie sleepless than to dream . . .

His thoughts suddenly interrupted by the click of locks and pounding on his door, he sprang from his bed ready to begin another day. He dressed quickly as his Aunt Petunia's shrill voice pierced the air, "Up, get up you lazy-boy! I will not wait breakfast on the likes of you."

Sometime during his contemplation, between the dream and his aunts screaming the sun had risen unnoticed. It was going to be another hot day and Harry was glad the lawn and garden had been on his to-do list the day before. 

Harry warily slipped out of his room and down the stairs toward the kitchen. He wasn't going to deny himself a meal, although it was rare that they called him for one at all, except when he was expected to cook it. Peering around the corner suspiciously, his eyes met with the sight of a large, beefy man with very little neck, known as Vernon Dursley. Next to him sat a slightly smaller, yet wider version of the man, his son Dudley. Both wore matching gaping smiles as they greedily stuffed their faces. He realized the reason he was called down this morning. Of course, how was Dudley supposed to gloat over his new car without Harry there to witness its delivery. Dudley having turned sixteen, was going for his drivers test today and his father decided his son should do so in style. After all, nothing is too good for his Dudders. 

Of course they failed to realize that Harry had no reason to be jealous of Dudley's car, as he could see no real need for owning Muggle transportation, with perhaps the exception of a heroic Ford Anglia such as the one that saved him and Ron in his second year or a charmed flying motorcycle. Once he passed his Apparation test – travel would become far simpler – and there are things far more important in this world to worry about than motor cars . . . 

Squashing that thought, Harry entered the room. He sat down and cautiously took a slice of slightly burnt toast. He kept a wary eye on his uncle for any sign of reproach – while waiting for the taunting to begin. Today was a proud day for Vernon Dursley and his eyes shone with pride as he watched Dudley demolish another plate of bacon and eggs. He sneered occasionally in Harry's direction. Of course Harry knew what this day meant for him. His endless list of chores just grew by one car wash, but perhaps it might also mean that its owner would spend more time away from the Dursley home, where Harry was doomed to remain.

Before the sneer turned to insults – or Harry could finish his slice of toast – the doorbell rang. He rose from his seat, sure that he would be ordered to answer it, but was shoved roughly aside by the other occupants of the room. "Out of the way, Boy," was all that was said as they pushed past, all eager to have a look at the new car. 

Harry watched from the livingroom window. After several long minutes were spent in the driveway loudly admiring the shiny new vehicle (for the neighbors benefit), papers were signed and the car delivered; Vernon Dursley proudly handed over the keys to his son. The Dursleys then loaded in and left. Harry was grateful to be left alone to clear the morning dishes. 

Not knowing how much 'Dursley free' time to expect he headed straight to the important business. His trunk was once again locked in the cupboard under the stairs and he wasted no time in relieving it of the padlock, inwardly thanking the twins for passing along that skill. At the train station, in his haste, he had grabbed the wrong book. Upon arriving, he realized he had smuggled his Divination book in under his shirt instead of Transfiguration. Although he could thank that error for his newly acquired study of meditation, he didn't wish to waste any more time on the subject of Divination. 

After grabbing enough parchment and ink to complete the summer's correspondence, he looked longingly at his Firebolt. The top of the line racing broom was a gift from his godfather. He was thankful for its return – but saddened by the memories it provoked. After locking his most treasured possessions away once more, he hid his school supplies safely under the loose floorboards in his bedroom.

***

Tired and depressed – Harry left the now spotless kitchen for his bedroom, knowing that Uncle Vernon would be murderous if he were found in any other room upon their return. As it was, he was sure to be blamed for their failure to lock him in while they were gone. 

Thinking back once again to the 'little chat' his welcoming committee had with the Dursleys at King's Cross station – Harry had to shake his head – what were they thinking? It was quite a site he had to admit – Remus Lupin, Mad-eye Moody, Tonks and the Weasleys all gathered together. He knew they meant well – but had they thought that threatening his uncle would make his summer holiday any better? Initially, they had been shocked – shock turned quickly to outrage. 

By the time they arrived at Privet Drive, a plan was forming and new rules were to be set. Once his trunk was inside, it was banished as always to the cupboard under the stairs. Although Harry was glad he wasn't relegated to the small cupboard as well, he was no less, locked in. Uncle Vernon had seized Harry painfully by the wrist and literally dragged him up the stairs to his bedroom, where he stood, menacingly punching his fist into his palm turning an increasingly violent shade of purple. He wanted to know where "those people" got such ideas about him and his family. After much yelling and cursing (the nonmagical kind), he was locked in to think about the new house rules. 

Harry had thought much about those rules – almost as much as he had about the loss of Sirius and the threat of Voldemort. He was living in an increasingly dangerous world – a fact his relatives were all too happy to remind him of.

***

A gaunt white face with crimson eyes – almost inhuman – glared from beneath a black hood. Masked faces surround the high throne where their master sits – anger seething behind his cold stare. Not enough –our numbers should grow – instead there are many missing from my circle – some dead some entombed in Azkaban, they shall return to me soon. "Bella – I _expect_, by now, you have learned something from the _fiasco_ at the Ministry?" 

"Master," she cried throwing herself pitifully at his feet, kissing the hem of his robes. "I tried . . . the Aurors they . . ."

"Enough! – I have no need of your excuses – I need your assurance that you will NOT fail me again. _Crucio!_"

Everyone's full attention was drawn to the woman screaming and writhing in pain on the floor in the cold, dim room. They were grateful to see the torment end while she still lived. All present were silently praying they wouldn't be next. They had all been punished for the incident at the Ministry, but for some perhaps a reminder was necessary. 

Many of the room's occupants took a turn at the end of Voldemort's wand before he addressed them again. "We had a plan I thought could not fail, yet it failed. Months of preparation for nothing . . . My Prophesy has been lost, but the boy still lives and that will not do . . . you my Death Eaters were thwarted by children and fools . . . now the Ministry can no longer deny my existence." 

He scanned the crowd . . . Who would be next to spoil his plans? If he knew, he would rid the world of their useless flesh before another plan dies of their incompetence. This time he must be guaranteed no slip-ups. The boy-who-lived must not be trained. 

"Wormtail! I have a new plan, and this one had better not fail." 

Peter Pettigrew, the Animagus also known as Wormtail hurried to his masters feet, looking worn and shabby but for his silver hand glinting in the dim torchlight. Kissing the hem of the robes before him, bowed low in deference. He spoke nervously. "M-Master, how may I serve to you, my lord?" His voice was squeaky and his mind was racing. Voldemort rarely singled him out for anything but punishment.

"Wormtail – you above all others should be aware, that the greatest weakness one can have – is often his closest friend. You know of the location of the Potter boy's friend – Not the Mud-blood – the Muggle lover. Bring him to me. We shall find out all we need to know from him." 

Wormtail's mind whirled faster than before – The Dark Lord, His Master wanted Ronald Weasley, his little master – I was his pet . . . his rat . . . Scabbers . . . he was a good master . . . he let me sleep in his bed – gave me Bertie Bott's Beans . . . he would be tortured; perhaps even killed for information on the-boy-who-lived . . . Ron – his little master . . . No . . . another way . . . there must be another way . . . perhaps the boy . . . a way to give him the-boy-who-lived . . . lived . . . he lived . . . where was it he lived . . . think – think . . . Fred and George in Ron's room, planning a rescue . . . where . . .

"M-Master – there may be a bet-t . . . a-a-another way . . . "

Voldemort's eyes were cold – his voice mocking – "This is a remarkable show of backbone from you Wormtail – wherever does it come from – well, don't keep us waiting . . . "

***

PS. Reviews are appreciated 

~ Whomping Willow ~ 


	2. Nightdreams and Daymares

First Steps

by:_ Whomping Willow_

***

Chapter two: Nightdreams and Daymares ~

  


Harry stepped into Dudley's second bedroom – he still thought of it that way sometimes; he'd had too many reminders already that nothing beyond his cupboard was truly his. The first thing he noticed was a large barn owl sharing Hedwig's perch. "Hello there," he greeted cordially as it stuck out its leg. Definitely a school owl he confirmed as he removed the envelope and spied the Hogwarts seal. "A bit early for the usual start of term notice, isn't it" he said expecting no response. Once relieved of its missive it left through the open window. Tearing open the letter he saw that he was correct. Instead of the usual summer correspondence he held in his shaking hands his O.W.L. results. Gulping audibly, he let his eyes scan the page: 

  


HOGWARTS SCHOOL 

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

~~~~~~~~~~~

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. , Chf. Warlock,_

_ Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter:

We are pleased to inform you the results of your O.W.L. testing have been received and accounted for. Your schedule of studies for your sixth year is to be based entirely upon these results. Your new list of course books and equipment should be arriving as usual.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

  


Outstanding

Outstanding

Exceeds Expectations . . .

His eyes stopped there. [ Exceeds Expectations ] better than he thought possible for himself in Potions, but not good enough. His mouth went dry. How would he ever become an Auror if he wasn't allowed to take N.E.W.T.S. level Potions? He crumpled the paper in his hands and threw it to the floor. What did the rest of it matter – what did any of it matter . . . ? 

Before another moment could be wasted on his growing list of '_if only . . .'_ the front door opened and closed with a slam. "BOY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the foot of the stairs. "Where was that ruddy owl going?" He pounded heavily up the stairs and descended on the room like a thunder cloud. "Now what have you been telling those FREAKS?!"

With those words, his eyes glazed over as his mind flashed back to the start of his summer holidays . . . Vernon's purpled face screaming, "OK you little ingrate, what exactly have you been telling those FREAKS?! What was all that about at the station . . . ?"

"N-nothing– I haven't said anything, to anyone . . . " said Harry trying to conceal his stammer behind a defiant glare. Backing further away as his uncle loomed over him, hands fisted in anger. "Perhaps it was my professor," he said knowing without a doubt it was not. "He used a spell – could see my memories – sort of read my mind . . ." Of course Vernon had nothing to fear from Snape seeing his memories – Snape would sooner encourage his treatment than put a stop to it, but perhaps if he thought he did – he'd leave him alone . . . or not. Talk of spells always left Vernon in a foul temper, best not to forget the rules again. 

Back to the present, Harry realized too late that he still hadn't answered his uncle's question. It seems as though he'll be fixing his glasses on the Hogwarts Express once again this year . . .

"I'm warning you now, Boy – Owls only leave when I say they do, or the bars will be back and that ruddy bird will not be the only one locked in for the rest of the summer. Now, what did you send?" 

"It was just a school owl sir . . . just letting me know that one of my elective courses was full. I'll have to choose another when I return in September." He lied as smoothly as possible – knowing the truth would only cause them to taunt him about his grades. His own disappointment at his Potions grade was still fresh in his mind. "It needed no response and flew off immediately," he said and hoped his uncle attributed his dampened brow to the heat of the stuffy room.

His uncle glowered, "If I find you've been lying to me you'll wish you'd never been born." He exited the room slamming the door and the click of locks soon followed. 

Harry casually wondered what had put his uncle in such a foul mood. He had been in fine spirits at breakfast . . . His idle musings were cut short. The answer echoed down the hall – 

"Really Vernon, everyone gets confused their first time on a roundabout. It's hardly Dudley's fault. I'm sure he was just nervous. Weren't you Diddykins? He'll just have to retake the test next week in your car . . ."

Vernon groaned. "It was brand-new – not a scratch on it!" 

"Now Vernon, they said at the shop they could fix it, just like new," Petunia chided.

Harry snickered softly, tuning out the remaining discussion and turned to his homework.

Concentration did not come easy. He studied in preparation for the new term, but his mind wandered to Occlumency – A subject that, had he practiced – (a knot formed in his stomach) if he had focused properly on his studies he could have . . . NO, would have saved lives . . . his godfather's life. If not for that vision . . . What was he thinking, his friends could have been killed? How many more lives will it take . . . How many more subjects were being neglected in the same fashion . . . Is it possible his lack of potions skill could someday get someone killed . . . With renewed vigor he once again concentrated upon his studies, intent on not failing again.

The door was unlocked late in the evening, giving Harry enough time to tidy up a bit and go to the loo. He was sent to bed without supper, but was not surprised considering the foul mood his uncle was in. Upon his return, the door was latched. He had to admit, the Dursleys hadn't been too terrible today as he pulled a snack out from underneath the loose floor boards. 

He began his nightly ritual of meditation, with cleansing breaths and a clear mind. The night was cooler than the day had been, but a warm breeze blew in. The thin curtains danced in the wind casting moving shadows on the walls. The play of moonlight in the dim room was soothing and soon he was asleep. He found himself in familiar surroundings . . . 

The strong stone walls of Hogwarts are always a comfort, but the sight of Snape, the Potions Master, is most certainly not. Standing before him in the room of so many failed Occlumency lessons, he tried to speak . . . Before a word left his mouth Snape chided, "Have you nothing to say for yourself Potter? – Perhaps your '_family_' should be allowed to speak for you then."

The Dursleys huddled together awkwardly in the shadows near the wall. "PATHETIC FREAK," they spat in unison, hate blazing in their eyes. They looked strangely out of place in a way that no Muggle-born ever did. Muggles in Hogwarts . . . Magic fearing Muggles in Hogwarts, was a strange sight indeed.

Harry was shocked by their presence in the place he had considered his true home since he was eleven. He tried to ignore them. "I-I thought you weren't teaching me Occlumency anymore, sir? Did Professor Dumbledore make you change your mind?" 

"Hardly Potter . . . I was merely curious about what you are planning next. How are you preparing to stand against the Dark Lord? Do you think he will take one look at the _famous Harry Potter _and simply fall down dead at your feet? I think not . . . although if you were to greet him in that particular ensemble, anything is possible . . ."

Harry looked down at the dingy clothes he had fallen asleep in. Still wearing Dudley's overlarge, threadbare hand-me-downs . . . his cheeks tinged pink. 

"INGRATE," Vernon bellowed, followed by Petunia. "THANKLESS WRETCH! Under our roof, food off our table, never satisfied."

"Have you nothing to say to that either, Potter? I see they know you rather well . . ." Snape looked so pleased with himself, he almost forgot to sneer. Harry's discomfort was evident as his hands twisted the hem of the overlarge T-shirt with his eyes fixed on the floor. 

"GOOD FOR NOTHING . . ."

"I do believe they forgot spoiled, arrogant, meddling . . ."

"Please sir," Harry interrupted. "Sir – I know I was wrong. I looked into your Pensive . . . I invaded your privacy and it was unforgivable. I've neglected my studies and let everyone down. I put them in danger and I deserve the blame. I'm worthless and don't deserve another chance, but I want to try . . . I have to do better. I have to be better."

"Something is different. You've . . . changed Potter. Is it the loss of your _Dog-_father? What is going on, in that empty head of yours? What are you up to?"

Swallowing down the insult to Sirius he responded calmly. "Thinking sir, I've been doing lots of it."

"NO GOOD WORTHLESS LAYABOUT," declared the Dursleys with distaste at the idea of sitting around thinking.

"I can see that Potter. What shall you do with this new found skill of yours?" Snape watched as Harry once again refused to rise to the bait. "Perhaps Dumbledore is right after all. You aren't your father . . ."

Harry looked up at the Potions Master and for one brief moment the customary sneer was gone . . .

For the first time in over a month, Harry woke up neither angry nor sobbing. He sat quietly listening to the snores in the next room and thought about what this latest dream could mean, before drifting dreamlessly back to sleep.

***

Far from the safety of number four, Privet Drive, Lord Voldemort sat in a private meeting with Wormtail, groveling at his feet. Wormtail was not a favorite of the Dark Lord. He viewed him as weak and a coward, but even those less suitable for the Dark Lord's service still had their moments of worth. Voldemort was rather pleased with the new information he'd received, but was presently dissatisfied with its source. 

Leaning back casually in his throne playing idly with his wand, he announced. "You will speak of this matter to no one. It is best kept between us two. I will not have this plan fouled by spies or my over zealous followers, looking to redeem themselves after their failure at the Ministry. Is that understood?" 

"Y-yes, My Lord. I am humbled by your faith in me, your l-loyal servant." He was breathing rapidly and shifted nervously on the floor. 

"What I fail to understand Wormtail, is why you have not thought to come forward with this information before? Much precious time has been wasted . . . surely you didn't deem it too insignificant to bring to my attention . . ." the slitted pupils of his snakelike eyes narrowed.

"Forgive me, My Lord – I only just remembered – memories sparked by your words. Lilly's Muggle sister . . . I hadn't thought . . . and that Dumbledore would leave the boy with her . . ." He winced as the Dark Lord rose from the throne.

"Enough of your sniveling – Listen carefully to my words for further inspiration. Your memories should all be sparked by this one, _Crucio!_" 

The curse was lifted only after tears of agony joined his screams. "You will do well not to fail me this time . . ."

"Yes Master," he whimpered from the floor, then rose to do as his Lord bade.

***

The door opened and Uncle Vernon strode in, displaying a plate of breakfast and the key to Hedwig's cage. "You know what day it is, Boy – do you have them ready? Let me see them."

Harry handed over a small stack of parchment, letters to his friends and the Order, assuring them of his uncle's fine treatment. He tried to avoid out right lies in favor of half-truths. He knew it was best not to cause trouble for his aunt and uncle, despite the inconvenience to himself. Dumbledore told him that he needed to return to their home every year for his safety, and a visit from the Order now wouldn't make them any more benevolent.

Once his uncle was satisfied with the content of the letters, Hedwig was released from her cage. Harry then received his breakfast. She didn't wait for the offer of sausage and scarcely had patience enough for him to attach the letters to her leg before stretching her wings and disappearing out the window into the early mornings light. 

The remainder of the day was spent scrubbing the house – Harry didn't mind much, after all the hard work kept him from brooding about the death of Sirius. Windows and floors, kitchen and bath, all getting the top to bottom treatment Aunt Petunia demanded twice a week – during summer holidays only of course. She followed behind checking that nothing was missed. When something didn't quite meet her satisfaction, he was cuffed sharply on the head; all witnessed through now streak-free windows, by the sharp prying eyes of a very nosey rat.

The unseen visitor watched for several days, from a careful distance, wary of the wards and any Order members sent to keep an eye on the boy. Each day went by much like the first, normally only the chores changing, but occasionally Harry was even lent out to a neighbor to help with their chores. Those were the days that he spent with Mrs. Figg. 

Harry had known Mrs. Figg for a very long time. She babysat him when the Dursleys didn't want to take him along somewhere fun like the zoo or the water park. He didn't like it there when he was young. Her house always smelled of cabbage and cats. When she would babysit him, she would make him look through old photo albums filled with pictures of all the cats she'd ever owned. Last summer Harry had learned that she was a squib and had been looking out for him since he was a little boy. Although at first he was angry with Dumbledore and the mad old lady, he was starting to understand a little of the secrecy that had surrounded him since childhood.

Now, about once a week, Aunt Petunia would get a telephone call from Mrs. Figg asking for Harry to come by and "help with a few things about the house." His aunt always agreed, happy to have him out of her hair for a while. They didn't actually do much more than talk and drink tea. It gave Harry a chance to discuss _abnormal_ things and learn more about the culture and traditions wizards grow up with. He learned about magical households from her stories of her childhood, and about squibs. She even made sure he knew of the latest news of Voldemort and how the Ministry was reacting to his reappearance. He found her perspective to be a unique blend of both Magical and Muggle and despite the generation gap they learned to get along well. The best thing about these chats was it kept Harry from getting frustrated with his time at the Dursleys and bottling up his feelings.

The rat always keeping his distance – thanks to Mr. Tibbles and the rest of Mrs. Figg's cats – still he saw enough about Harry to make his master very happy. The plan should go well.

His mind occasionally wandered to another raven haired boy he knew so many years before. He tried not to think of those days – those people lost to him now, killed by his own treachery. He tried not to think of the wizards debt owed the young man he watched . . . he betrayed. It's hard to not think – so much to not think about. 'James . . . my friend . . . what have I done . . .'

***

In the years since Harry had started Hogwarts, he had become accustomed to a certain sense of isolation over the summer. It was a drastic change to go back to his oppressive life with the Dursleys after a school year surrounded with magic and friends. This summer was different though. Not only did he have regular visits with Mrs. Figg, but he was also aware of the fact he was being watched. At first it was just a funny feeling he had once in a while in the back of his mind, but then he started paying closer attention and figured it out. He knew Dumbledore had the Order keep an eye on him last summer and this year was to be the same. The only difference now, was the fact he knew he was being watched. He started looking forward to those times when he was allowed out of the house, so he could check-up on his keepers.

He tried to recognize who it was on duty beneath the invisibility cloak, with some measure of success. If he caught the smell of smoke and Fire Whiskey in the air that would most certainly mean Mundungus. Tonks was easily recognized as well. She would inevitably trip over something and Harry would call softly to her over his shoulder, "Hey Tonks," knowing she wasn't allowed to reply. Not all were so easy though. Mad-eye was especially difficult. Despite his wooden leg, he could move with surprising stealth. The day that he caught Mad-eye Harry said quietly, "constant vigilance," Moody's soft growl was his only reply.

There were a few days where he could tell someone was there, but it wasn't a comfort at all. He wondered who it was those days and why they made him feel so uneasy. 

***

In a darkened chamber of Riddle Manor, Wormtail bowed low once again to his Master, kissing his robe in reverence. "I bring news, My Lord. N-news of Harry Potter," he squeaked.

"Speak."

"Everything is as I said – he is there, with the Muggles. The wards surrounding the house are weak and will be of little protection . . ." as his voice broke off he thought, 'there is no love for him there.'

"Excellent – you have inspected the building including all means of entry?"

"Yes, My Lord – it's a simple place, only two doors, front and back – it should be easy to secure."

"What of the Muggles?" demanded the Dark Lord.

He shuddered at the memory. "T-terrible, they are the worst sort. Boorish . . . A pleasure to kill, but hardly worth the wand."

"You have done well, Wormtail. You will be included in this raid, I believe. It would be a shame to exclude you after all your efforts toward its success."

"Thank you, My Lord," he replied, unsure of whether he should be pleased with the news or not.

"Harry Potter shall be mine . . . As the seventh month dies, so shall he."

With all the customary bowing and scraping, Wormtail took his leave. 

***

It was a rainy morning, a bit cool for July and the sun even seemed hesitant to rise and fight its way through the clouds, but there was no lounging about in the Dursley home. Today was – the big day – or rather another big day. It had been a week since Dudley's disastrous encounter with the roundabout and he was scheduled to retake his drivers' test. 

There was noticeably less gloating on Dudley's part. His new car was still in the shop for repairs. He was looking considerably more nervous this time around, but still managed a healthy portion of bacon and eggs. Vernon looked no less proud, but perhaps a bit wary, this time it was to be his car after all.

Dudley wasn't quite back to his old self this summer. Last year's encounter with the dementors affected him more than he would admit. At times he seemed perfectly normal, crass and loud, then without warning he would turn sullen. Vernon had prohibited any mention of the event and warned Harry to stay clear of his son, a rule Harry happily adhered to. No Harry-Hunting meant there was one less thing he had to lie to the Order about.

Under the watchful eye of Vernon, Hedwig was sent off with another note for the Order. The Dursleys headed off immediately thereafter. Today he was left to fend for himself where breakfast was concerned. Alone at last he started on the toast . . . As soon as the bread went into the toaster, the telephone rang.

He was somewhat apprehensive. He'd never been allowed to use the telephone before this summer, but his friends had started calling for him recently and he had been allowed the calls albeit grudgingly . . . Decision made – Harry picked it up before it stopped ringing.

"Hello?" He said with caution.

"Harry? Thank Goodness. I'm so glad I finally reached you. I was starting to worry."

"Hermione, it's good to hear from you too, but what do you mean finally – it only rang three times?" 

"What do I mean? Harry, haven't you been getting my messages? I've been trying to reach you all week."

"Uh– no, sorry my cousin must've forgot to tell me. I'm doing fine though, keepin' busy with my studies."

"So you said in your letters, did you get your O.W.L. results yet? I got all Outstandings except for Ast– "

"What the – Smoke? Bloody hell? . . . 'Mione, I'm fine, but I've gotta go . . . burnin' breakfast." His voice trailed off as he dropped the phone and ran to save the toaster.

***

Still munching distastefully on irreparably charred toast, Harry dug through his school trunk. He knew he should call Hermione back soon to further explain his hasty dismissal, but there was one more book he needed and it was best to do all lock-picking while the Dursleys were out. He wasn't aware that the telephone receiver hadn't caught and now lay useless on the floor . . . or that Hermione was getting impatient with the busy signal she received on every attempt.

Harry panicked when he heard sounds at the front door. That odd feeling was back again. It couldn't have been much more than thirty minutes since Dudley pulled out of the driveway and it took far longer than that for him to crash last time . . . Either way it would not do well to be caught in the act. Thinking fast, Harry dove into the cupboard pulling the door shut softly behind him. He hoped they wouldn't notice the missing padlock. As an additional precaution he pulled his father's invisibility cloak out, draping it over him completely. Silently closing the trunk he crouched in the corner and waited. He was painfully aware that his soon to be sixteen-year-old body, was no longer a comfortable fit in the confined space; even when he was a small eleven-year-old, he hadn't had to share the space with his trunk. He did his best to get comfortable, not knowing how long he'd have to wait.

***

Outside of number four, Privet Drive, a group gathered with anxious faces hidden behind white masks. One cold voice broke the silence, "It is time . . ."

***

_tbc . . ._

  
  


Please review


	3. Hints and Allegations

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow _~

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. 

***

Chapter three: Hints and Allegations ~

Smiling proudly from behind the wheel, Dudley turned onto Magnolia Road. His mother held his new license in her boney fingers prattling on about how fast her little boy was growing up. They had stopped for an early lunch to celebrate, and now Dudley was looking forward to driving by his friends to brag. Vernon remained silent but for another relieved sigh. His car had made it through the test unscathed. The three occupants noticed something was wrong as they turned onto Magnolia Crescent just a few streets away from Privet Drive. Despite the rain, smoke could be seen billowing forth into the overcast sky. As they drew closer to their destination, a sense of dread consumed them.

Before they reached their home, they were stopped by an official looking young man, dressed in an unfamiliar uniform. "I'm sorry sir, but you'll need to turn back. Privet Drive is temporarily closed." 

"Like Hell we will," Vernon barked from the passenger seat catching his first glimpse of the smoking building. "That's my home."

The young man's face brightened momentarily. As he scanned over the car's occupants, his face darkened once more. "You're the Dursleys?" He asked solemnly.

"Yes," confirmed Vernon. "What did that bloody boy do this time?!"

The uniformed wizard sobered, "Albus Dumbledore will be wanting to speak with you."

"I should think so!" Vernon bellowed, becoming even more belligerent when he realized the uniformed young man must be _one of them_.

"If you'll wait here, I'll see if I can find him." He responded politely. 

"Oh no you don't! We're coming with you."

The man glanced over his shoulder nervously. "I really think it'd be best if you wait here."

Vernon would not be swayed. Uniform or not some, little prat, was not keeping him from his home, no matter what shape it was in. Narrow streets jammed with emergency vehicles being impassable, they abandoned the car and proceeded on foot following behind the uniformed wizard. As he followed, Vernon was muttering about "freaks and their sticks." How were they going to explain this to the neighbors? How could they not be associated with such evidence of the boy's abnormality considering the present state of their home?

When they were finally able to get a good look at what remained of their beloved two-story home, they saw a hideous shape in the smoke. A large emerald skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue, hung in the air for a moment more before being force to dissipate. All that remained to see of number four, Privet Drive was a smouldering pile of rubble and a trampled flower garden. Some wizards were still trying to control the last of the flames while others began the task of searching for bodies.

Petunia's eyes filled with tears and she held onto her husband for support. Meanwhile Dudley whimpered something about his 'not yet broken' birthday presents and computer and Vernon looked homicidal.

That is how Albus Dumbledore found them. They stood speechless on the pavement before the ruins of their home unaware of what it all meant. He approached purposefully. His long silver beard was smudged with ash and eyes clouded with worry. "Mr. Dursley I presume? I'm Albus Dumbledore . . ."

"What the bloody hell did he do to my house?!" Vernon interrupted.

"Vernon please," Petunia chided going pale as she noticed a neighbor talking to a uniformed wizard nearby.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Albus spoke again. "Don't worry Mrs. Dursley, by the time we're done here, the neighbors will think it was a gas explosion."

She looked only slightly relieved. "Well, what did happen? Was it that Vold-er . . . "

"Yes, I am afraid so. His followers or perhaps even Voldemort himself attacked sometime this morning. The skull symbol they just dispelled is his sign. It appears that somehow the wards protecting your home were weakened." Dumbledore started.

"How dare you endanger my family like this?!" Interrupted Vernon, bellowing for all he was worth.

"Vernon please, let Mr. Dumbledore finish." Petunia scolded once more.

"Mr. Dursley, I understand your distress, but I have to ask – was Harry at home when you left? We need to know if it is possible he was captured. We've found no sign of him."

"You call that no sign," snapped Vernon pointing sharply at the smouldering ruins of his home.

Just then they were interrupted by another uniformed wizard. "Excuse me Professor Dumbledore, I have been speaking with a witness, and have some questions to ask Mr. Potter's family if I could."

"Certainly Arnold," Albus nodded solemnly.

Arnold Peasgood was an Obliviator, from the Ministry's Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Due to the size and importance of the mornings job, they needed the assistance of the entire Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes as well as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. For once Cornelius Fudge was providing the Ministry's complete cooperation.

"When questioning Mr. Prentice from down the street," Arnold started calmly, "he reported having seen strangely dressed men in masks approaching the Dursley home. He then asked me if it was a group of 'troublemakers from that school the boy goes to.' Mr. Dursley, are the neighbors aware that Harry attends Hogwarts?" 

Dumbledore was stunned. Could the Dursleys have been so careless as to tell the neighbors of Harry's magical education? All the ploys to protect the location of boy-who-lived, for it all to be wasted was a terrible thought. All fears were immediately laid to rest, and then promptly replaced.

"They most certainly are not! They believe my _wife's nephew_," he emphasized trying to distance himself from any relation to the freak and his kind, "attends St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. I will not have them made aware of his abnormality."

Mr. Peasgood's face was stern as he nodded curtly. "That is all I need, for now." He thanked Dumbledore and returned to his duties. His mind wandered momentarily. If we ever find Mr. Potter, it'd be a kindness to Obliviate him, removing all memories of those horrible Muggles.

Turning back to the Dursleys, Albus spoke. "As I was saying, there is no sign of him, yet. His body has not been found. It is still possible that he may be alive. Voldemort might have taken Harry with him . . ."

"That is none of my concern. Volde-whatsis can keep him. You have endangered my family long enough." 

"If that is how you both feel . . ." Albus started slowly only to be interrupted once more.

"It is! We've put up with all we will take from the boy." Vernon said with conviction and Petunia nodded sadly thinking of how close she came to losing her sweet Dudley just last summer. He had looked so terribly frightened and still was not quite back to normal. She knew she made a promise, but she would not risk her family anymore.

"You will be relocated to a new home of course. It shouldn't take long, now that you won't need the protective wards." 

"If Harry is alive then aren't we still targets to that madman? Don't we need the wards?" Pleaded Petunia.

"The wards were keyed to Harry's blood, the familial bond and his mother's sacrifice. Without Mr. Potter the wards would be of no protection to you."

"But, what if Vol-Volde-whatchamacallit comes after us?" Dudley spoke for the first time.

Albus looked sadly at the boy, then the father. "That is none of my concern." He turned and walked away. He had to go inform the Order and putting it off would do no good.

"You can't do this to us," screamed Vernon. "After all we did for the boy – we took him in – you owe us!"

Took him in – indeed thought Albus, as he walked away from the irate Dursleys. He reflected on his words to the boy, "she may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet she still took you, and in doing so sealed the charm." Could hate this strong, have weakened the shield forged by the blood bond? He had spoken the truth. They were based on blood and love, Lily's love. Unfortunately that love was something still foreign to young Harry. Her blood became his refuge, but alas her heart had not. 

***

At number twelve, Grimmauld Place, an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, was soon under way. Order members were seated around the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen with anxious looks etched on their faces. Molly Weasley was sobbing quietly in the arms of her husband. She like all the others did not want to believe that Harry could be gone. 

"He's a smart boy, with more luck than I've ever known," Mr. Weasley cooed to his wife, "if anyone could've gotten away it would be Harry." She nodded silently, tears still leaking down her cheeks. "You'd best clean yourself up before the children see you." She nodded again and wiped distractedly at her tears.

Albus Dumbledore looked on. It was a hard task gathering the Order together, knowing he had to share the grim details of the morning's events. There had been many difficult questions asked and painfully few answers. A few members were sent on missions based on the little evidence available, but for most there was little to do but wait for news and wonder – How had Death Eaters got past the wards around the Dursleys' home? 

The wards around Privet Drive had failed not only to protect Harry, but also to alert Dumbledore of the presence of Death Eaters in the vicinity. It wasn't until Arabella Figg saw smoke through her window in the direction of Harry's home, that the Headmaster had been notified. She was quite distraught, knowing the guard assigned to watch the boy had come in out of the rain and was warming up with a cup of tea in her home at the time of the attack. 

By the time Aurors arrived, the house was largely destroyed and the remaining Death Eaters put up minimal fight. The large group only fired off perhaps two dozen curses before Disapparating. One of the Aurors claimed to have seen one of the robed men dragging a smaller figure out of the home by the hair, but smoke from the burning building obscured their faces. There was no proof whether it could have been Harry, but speculation was another matter. 

The Ministry was soon on the scene. Dressed in Muggle style uniforms, Obliviators quickly questioned the witnesses about what had happened and then modified their memories. Anti-muggle Security did its best, bringing in fake emergency equipment to block the view of the house and lend the appearance of Muggle firefighters and medical crews. The home's ruins had been thoroughly searched for survivors and/or bodies, but all turned up nothing.

Looking around the table the faces looked grim. The disappearance of the boy-who-lived brought back painful memories for all. That Halloween night so long ago when they learned of the loss of both James and Lily Potter – despite the joy of Harry's survival and Voldemort's defeat, it was a crushing blow. If Harry doesn't return, there will not be anything to celebrate and the hopes for Voldemort's defeat would be all but lost. There was little to say. They just hoped that when Snape returned from the summoning, he would bring some good news.

The silence was brought to an end as someone stepped out of the floo and startled Order members jumped up with wands drawn. Hermione's eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of a half-dozen wands pointed at her. She tried to look calm, but her voice quavered when she announced, "I think Harry may be in trouble."

Dumbledore lowered his gaze for a moment taking in a steadying breath before he spoke. "I am afraid you are correct, Miss Granger. The question is how did you know?"

She was somewhat surprised by the Headmasters blunt response, but answered quickly. "I spoke with him on the telephone this morning. He cut off the connection suddenly after muttering something about smoke or something burning . . . I tried to call him back, but the call won't go through."

"When was that?" The Headmaster asked.

Hermione thought for a moment and flushed in frustration, "It was still early sir, perhaps a little after nine." 

The room's occupants looked at each other mulling the information over in their heads. If the attack started while Harry was on the phone with Hermione, Voldemort's forces would have had plenty of time to kidnap Harry and then destroy the home before the Aurors arrived. 

Hermione wanted to inform them earlier, not owning an owl or being hooked to the floo, she needed to wait till her mother could drive her to the Leaky Cauldron to use one there. The wait had been horrible and she really wanted to know what had happened to Harry. She wanted answers, now. "What happened to Harry? Is he here?" She impatiently pleaded.

"I'm sorry, child. There was an attack on his home this morning . . . Harry has not yet been found." Dumbledore spoke with a sadness that shone on the faces of those around him.

Hermione stood in stunned silence, still coated with soot from the floo.

Before anyone could say anymore, a beautiful snowy owl they all knew swooped in, landing on the table in front of a rather weary looking Remus Lupin. Hedwig looking slightly abashed, presented her leg and dropped a slightly muddy parchment into Remus's hands.

All eyes were focused on Remus as he tore open the letter. It could be the answer to so many questions . . . 

"Don't dawdle man, tell us what he says," barked Moody.

Remus read it aloud:

  


_Moony,_

_I know you're all probably worried about me after everything that has happened, but I need you to know I'm Okay._

_I'm looking forward to seeing you all really soon. Give everyone a hug for me._

_Harry_

  


Remus blinked, read it silently to himself again, shook his head and handed the letter to Dumbledore.

"That's all he said?" Voices echoed from several points of the room as Mrs. Weasley began to cry again.

"I'm afraid so," was the quiet response.

"Why so cryptic? Why didn't he tell us where he is, so we could go get him?" Mrs. Weasley questioned, voice tainted with frustration.

"Perhaps he was being cautious. If the letter were to be intercepted by Death Eaters it could lead them right to him." 

There were sad nods to the Dumbledore's words and one shout of, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE," from Mad-eye Moody.

Dumbledore continued, "or the letter could have been sent sometime shortly before the attack."

The looks he received were even sadder after that.

Hermione searched the faces in the room. After not finding what she was looking for, she turned to Mrs. Weasley. "No, they don't know yet," Mr. Weasley quietly replied to the unasked question, for his emotional wife. 

She just nodded sadly in response.

"We were hoping to have a bit more information before we said anything. You understand . . ." he added. "Perhaps you could call them down . . . I believe it is time they knew." Mr. Weasley looked to Dumbledore for confirmation and received it.

***

_tbc_ . . .

~ Whomping Willow ~

  
  



	4. Harry Hunting

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow _

Disclaimer: You should know by now, they are not mine.

***

Chapter four: Harry Hunting ~

  


Hedwig's arrival had brought a flurry of activity to the previously sullen room. Whatever remained of this summer's correspondence was laid in a small pile on the table for comparison. They wanted to know if there were anymore clues as to when the new letter was sent. If there was any unusual content, it could help. Unfortunately not everyone saved the short notes of reassurance Harry had sent. The big question was, had Harry ever signed "_I'm looking forward to seeing you all really soon_," before? Could this be a clue that he was already on his way? All of the Weasleys were eager to help and the twins kept coming up with ridiculous schemes to find Harry, mostly involving their products. Hermione wanted to have the mud from the parchment examined, to see if they could pinpoint its origins, but they would need Snape for that and he still hadn't returned. 

***

Pounding, he could hear pounding. Pulse pounding in his ears so loud he was sure someone else would hear. Harry's heart was hammering hard against his ribs in protest and his lungs burned in agreement. There had been no Harry-Hunting this summer and his body was protesting the new advanced version of the game . . . 

Death Eaters had spelled open the front door and strolled in, like they were welcome guests, not the murdering lackeys of Voldemort they are. He knew the moment Lord Voldemort himself made his appearance, his scar lighting up in a blaze of pain. 

"How did they find me?" Harry asked himself silently. Dumbledore had told him he would be safe as long as he could call Privet Drive home. It seems he was wrong. Appropriately enough, Harry had been crouched in his first home, the cupboard under the stairs, while he listened to the unwelcome guests search the house for him.

Hidden under the invisibility cloak, he had waited patiently for a chance to sneak out. Harry listened carefully to their movements while trying to plan where to go if or when he managed to escape. His situation had seemed hopeless considering there were at least two Death Eaters searching the first floor and they never went far enough from the cupboard for him to slip past and out the door. Then he heard a hand rest on the doorknob to his hiding place, and his breath caught in his throat. He knew that all the Death Eaters would come down to witness the destruction of his trunk . . . then he would be surrounded, but a sudden shout from upstairs brought them all running. Feet pounded heavily up the stairs above his head. He hadn't wasted the opportunity and fled the cupboard then out the front door wrapped in his cloak with his broom clenched desperately in his fist. 

In his haste Harry hadn't been quiet enough. One of the Death Eaters had heard the front door and alerted the others. They chased him as best as they could, catching occasional glimpses of him when his cloak flapped behind exposing his legs. He had run as long as his lungs would allow, zigzagging his way around Little Whinging, checking his pocket occasionally to be sure he hadn't lost his wand while trying to shake them off his tail. He worked hardest at hiding his broom. If they thought he was on foot it might limit their search area, but at the moment he _was_ on foot. He would surely risk expulsion if he was spotted by Muggles in broad daylight on a flying broom. He knew, no matter how well he tried to wrap himself up in his father's cloak, he wouldn't be lucky enough to go unnoticed. He would have to wait till night fall and stay hidden till then.

The gentle rain falling in the trees was soothing Harry's panic numbed mind. Unfortunately for him, the adrenalin that had been surging through his body began to recede. He had been alternately running and hiding for several hours and it left his body trembling and his mind whirling with new thoughts. For the first time since the Death Eaters breached the wards at the Dursleys' home, Harry had a moment to wonder how. Dumbledore had told him they were based on blood and some sort of family bond. Did that mean the Death Eaters had killed the Dursleys? Had their deaths broken down the wards? Was he responsible for the death, of yet three more . . . just like his parents, Cedric, and Sirius? 

He had to stop thinking like that and think of the positives . . . he had his wand, his broom, and his invisibility cloak. It was a start. It seemed the Muggles had sense enough to stay in out of the rain. If Voldemort did show up, he wouldn't be risking more innocent lives.

Harry tried to think of where to go next. Soaking wet and cold, in a thin T-shirt and threadbare oversized trousers, it was clear he wasn't prepared for a day out in the rain. He hadn't wanted to risk being discovered, making a sound while searching through his trunk for his money bag, so he left it along with any chance of catching the Knight Bus. He thought about backtracking to Mrs. Figg's, but being a squib, she would be little help if he was followed there. The Burrow was out of the question as well. Ron's letters had stated that the Weasleys had moved to Grimmauld Place for the summer. He supposed he could fly to Order Headquarters, but what if this was a trap – he did get away without ever being struck by a single curse. Was he just lucky or was it all a plan to get Harry to lead Voldemort to the Order of the Phoenix? He couldn't risk it. Perhaps if he could make it to the Leaky Cauldron . . . Tom might put him up again, like in the summer before his third year, at least till he could get word to the Order. Now that he had a plan, all he had left to do was to wait until nightfall.

***

Although Molly fixed dinner, few were inclined to eat. The letters still littered the kitchen table now in stacks showing their order of significance. They seemed to be of almost no help at all, but they were waiting for Dumbledore to go over them himself for a final verdict.

If there was any chance that Harry was still alive and in danger, they needed to be there ready to help. They didn't want to see a repeat of last summer, although perhaps Fudge might be a bit more understanding of underage magic use in this case. 

Dumbledore arranged a rotating schedule to keep a wizard with Mrs. Figg at all times and sent Bill and Charlie Weasley home to the Burrow in case Harry somehow turned up there. The Leaky Cauldron was also a likely spot, being where Harry fled to in his third year, so Mundungus Fletcher was sent to keep an eye on the comings and goings there. He wanted to ensure it was as easy as possible for Harry to obtain help, wherever he may go. 

The protective charms around Harry were both a blessing and a curse. Much like the Dursleys' home, Harry himself was protected by spells carefully woven on top of the shield of his mother's sacrifice. Although they prevented Voldemort and his minions from seeking Harry out with a simple Point-me, they also prevented Dumbledore and the Order from coming to his aid in the same manner. The charms were too well planned, too intricately woven, they would just have to wait and hope for the best. 

***

Harry stood pacing back and forth in front of a park bench somewhere in Little Whinging. He had sat there for a long while remaining quiet in case there were Death Eaters searching the area for him, but now nervous energy was overwhelming him. He had to move. His scar had started burning and he didn't feel safe staying put any longer. He decided it couldn't hurt to get a head start to the Leaky Cauldron on foot. 

Leaving the deserted park behind filled him with a sense of great relief. Sitting alone looking upon empty swings had inevitably led his thoughts to his friends. He missed them and was worried about them even though he knew they were far safer than he was at the moment. That didn't stop him from worrying though. The Daily Prophet was sure to write about the attack, as soon as they found out about it. He hoped he could get word to them before then so they wouldn't be concerned, but Hedwig had been sent to the Order with a note that morning and he wouldn't expect her back anytime soon. As much as he could use Hedwig right now, he was far happier knowing she was safe.

He considered the note for a moment. He had implied that everything was fine so they wouldn't worry. Harry wanted to reassure Remus that he was coping with his godfather's death regardless of his being stuck with the Dursleys, but now he wished he had waited. If the note hadn't been sent, he could've expected the Headmaster to send someone to check on him soon. If that were the case, he could double back to Privet Drive and hide till they arrived, but as it was now he had no way of knowing how long it would be till someone was on their way. It would be best not to risk hiding where the Death Eaters might still be looking. That made the Leaky Cauldron his best option.

He thought of the hot tea and biscuits that would be waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron and smiled. If all went as planned he would soon be resting safely . . . warm, dry and full of hot tea and biscuits. After that he could worry about contacting the Order.

***

In robes soiled with blood and dirt, Severus Snape entered the kitchen. He smelled like stale vomit and looked little better. His nose appeared to be broken and he was having difficulty standing. Dumbledore was quickly at his side wrapping an arm around his waist to help him to a chair. Once seated, he waved the Headmaster off and began searching his robe's pockets for the necessary potions. He tried to speak, but no words would come.

Molly Weasley poured a hot cup of tea, setting it on the table in front of him then joined her family waiting anxiously with the others for his report of the day's events. Despite the condition of his robes and pained expression all present knew it looked like the news would be good. Perhaps it would be enough to give them a place to start or somewhere to look. Sitting around was making them all edgy and they needed something to do with that energy.

Snape's hands shook terribly as he struggled to down the pain potions. He had obviously spent time under the Cruciatus Curse and was suffering from its lingering effect. 

Anyone else might have felt self-conscious with a room full of people staring with such intensity, but he understood the reason why he held their attention in a way no Potions class ever could. He still needed a few moments to regain his voice and the strain of waiting was shown on many faces.

Among the group seated around the table were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Harry's best friends. Ron was glaring at his hated Potions Professor and getting more anxious every minute. Hermione gently took Ron's hand in hers hoping to calm him and gaining a moment of support for herself. Remus Lupin saw the gesture and smiled briefly. From where he stood he could feel the tension radiating off of them. He rested a hand on their shoulders hoping to comfort the worried children further. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and gave a tight smile at the kind gesture, while Ron nodded solemnly. The silence was interrupted abruptly. 

"Damn it Snape, you going to make us wait all day?!" Spat a very impatient Mad-eye Moody.

Dumbledore admonished him with a look. "Please everyone, just give him a moment," he said, but when he looked back to the Potions Master his blue eyes were pleading behind half-moon spectacles. "Severus, is he alive?" He inquired gently, knowing it was the question on everyone's lips. 

To everyone's relief Snape nodded confirming their hopes. His expression was far from optimistic, but it still lit hope in the eyes of everyone around the room.

"Does Voldemort have him?" Dumbledore asked again holding back the flood of questions with a glance around the room.

Snape swallowed thickly, shook his head and finally spoke. "I don't know where he is hiding Albus, but neither does the Dark Lord. He must have known somehow . . ." He paused a moment, coughing painfully and took a sip of the tea. "I was there at the time of the attack. Potter was already hidden when we entered the house. He slipped out when we were distracted upstairs . . ."

The room filled with proclamations of relief and joy. Molly's happy tear-filled sobs were heard easily above everyone else. 

Snape knew it was only a short reprieve from the questioning. After another sip of tea he continued his explanation, with a touch less contempt in his voice than he usually used when discussing Harry Potter. "Potter gave quite a chase from what I hear. Wrapped in his father's invisibility cloak there was little chance they would catch him once he left the house, although quite a few still tried. The Dark Lord was most displeased at Potter's escape." He grimaced slightly at the memory of the Dark Lords anger before continuing. "He took great care in destroying the boy's trunk before starting on the rest of the house."

"Thank you Severus. I'll be waiting for a detailed account after you've had a chance to rest. Everyone, it looks like there is a busy night ahead. We have an invisible boy to look for."

"There is one more thing, Albus," choked Snape. "It appears the Dark Lord is mobilizing dementors to aid him in the search . . ." 

"Let's hope Mr. Potter can find his way home to us before that becomes an issue." Hermione and Ron appeared about to speak, but the Headmaster was one step ahead of them. "The children will wait here. We need someone to coordinate the search efforts . . ."

"Professor," Hermione interrupted. "Wouldn't it be better if we searched for Harry as well? We could fly overhead on brooms . . . perhaps under a Disillusionment Charm. The more eyes the better?" Even she knew she was grasping at straws, but it didn't keep Ron and Ginny from nodding along enthusiastically.

"Yes, the more eyes the better," Sneered Snape. ". . . Especially when looking for an invisible boy."

Hermione's cheeks flushed scarlet, while Ron murmured something decidedly unflattering about Snape.

"Now is not the time for that Severus," Dumbledore scolded. "I'm sorry children, but there may be dementors involved. If that is not reason enough for you, it is still the summer holidays and if you were to perform magic during the search or rescue even to protect yourself, it could mean your expulsion . . . And that is a risk I'm not willing to take. End of discussion."

The teens looked dejected, but nodded their understanding. It was getting late and would be dark soon and they each thought silently, "Where are you Harry?"

After a few furtive glances around the table, Ron summoned the other teens to follow him out of the room. He wanted to go somewhere that they could talk without the risk of being overheard by the adults. They crept quietly up the stairs past the portrait of Sirius' mum and into his room. Once they were all safely locked inside Ron addressed the group. "What if Snape is lying and You-Know-Who really does have Harry? He could be trying to distract the Order to prevent them from rescuing him."

"Ron, Professor Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape. I think we should have confidence in his opinion." Hermione felt worn-out. She was not ready to fight about Snape when they should be focused on Harry.

"I can't help it 'Mione. I don't trust the greasy git. There's something he's not telling us."

"As much as I hate to defend Snape, I think Hermione has got a point. Did you get a look at him? Does he look like he spent time at a victory party with You-Know-Who?"

"Whose side are you on Fred?" Ron asked, ears turning pink.

"Ron isn't it obvious Snape was punished . . . most likely for Harry's escape. He may have even helped him," admonished Hermione.

"I hope you're right 'Mione, for Harry's sake."

"So do I . . ." she agreed. "Now let's go back down and find out if there is anything we can do to help."

***

Ginny checked on the owls. She gave them all food and fresh water then sat on the floor in a corner stroking Hedwig. She murmured reassuring words promising that Harry would be safe soon, hoping it was true.

***

  
  


_tbc_ . . .

~ Whomping Willow ~


	5. Fight or Flight

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow_ ~

Disclaimer: I own nothing worth taking, especially not Harry Potter.

***

Chapter five: Fight or Flight ~

  


Despite the carefully coordinated efforts of the Order of the Phoenix, the search was going nowhere. They had searched the area surrounding Privet Drive very carefully before breaking up into smaller groups to search the surrounding neighborhoods. 

It was conceivable that Harry had been struck by a curse and landed fully covered by his cloak leaving him simultaneously unconscious and invisible. That possibility was enough to make them search every lawn and garden on Privet Drive with great care. 

Remaining unseen by Muggles was still imperative and invisibility was a difficult thing to come by. Invisibility cloaks were scarce and it took skill and power to become invisible without one which made the search a time-consuming task. It was made slightly easier as daylight faded in the overcast sky. Dumbledore enlisted the aid of the Put-Outer when street lamps threatened to give them away. Remus thought more than once how much easier this would be if Padfoot were here. 

***

Harry walked down a narrow rain slicked street. It was slow progress hiding himself and his broom carefully under the cloak, but not near so bad as hiding himself and Ron for a trip to Hogwart's kitchens. He remained acutely aware of his surroundings and stopped walking entirely when anyone passed by. He was afraid of alerting someone of his presence with the sound of his footsteps. It was impossible to keep track of how far he'd come or even how long he'd been walking. Even if he'd had his watch on it was still hard for him to focus sometimes with his busted spectacles and scar burning incessantly. He was sore and tired. He had even tripped on the edge of his cloak once reminding himself of Tonks. What he wouldn't give to have her watching over him now, he mused.

He could tell Voldemort was furious. Harry had spoiled his plans again and the Death Eaters had been paying for it in pain. Better them than me – Perhaps Bellatrix had been punished . . . he couldn't bear to even finish that thought. If he started feeling better, because of the suffering of another, that was . . . well, that would make him as bad as Voldemort. He hoped if he kept his mind clear the burning would let up a bit or at least he wouldn't end up with an inconvenient vision. It had seemed to work so far this summer. Clearing his mind he walked until the street lamps lit the pavement.

When he felt it was dark enough to be safe Harry found another park, quiet and wooded enough to hide his takeoff. He mounted his broom and wrapped up tightly in his invisibility cloak. He hoped it would be enough to keep him off the cover of the Daily Prophet and a dozen Muggle publications. If he was spotted, he would surely be expelled this time.

Kicking off hard, he felt the familiar rush of freedom wash over him. He had missed flying on his Firebolt last year. Now it brought back memories of many proud victories and the feel of the Golden Snitch fluttering in his hand. He had been banned from playing Quidditch last term, thanks to the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge. It wasn't until now he saw how much he had missed it, although he couldn't say he'd missed the early morning practices. It was a shame he couldn't risk a few tricks, because he had a terrible urge to perform a Wronski Feint. He wondered momentarily if he would still be banned from the sport. He was sure that Professor McGonagall will do everything in her power to see the ban lifted and that was something to consider. 

As much as he enjoyed flying, this was no pleasure trip. Harry had to make sure to fly high above the ground to lessen the risk of being spotted, for surely his cloak didn't hide everything. Unfortunately higher meant the air was even colder as it whipped against his wet clothes. His eyes watered due to the icy wind blurring the pinpricks of light showing faintly through the low clouds. As he veered off course to avoid flying over major motor ways, he realized how much he was looking forward to reaching his destination. 

Squinting his eyes as he descended slightly, he could vaguely make out the shape of buildings and payed closer attention to the baffling network of streets below, in search of the Leaky Cauldron. When he knew he was getting close he began to cautiously fly even lower looking for an inconspicuous place to land, but something wasn't right. He wiped the rain off his spectacles and looked again, straining his eyes in the darkness. There were many dark robed figures moving in the street amongst the Muggles. He didn't notice the sudden drop in temperature, but when he heard the faint sound of familiar screams he pulled his broom up sharply and held on tight. There were dementors surrounding Diagon Alley and they were looking for him.

***

Ginny Weasley had come down stairs and busied herself making another pot of tea while Hermione spoke with Professor Dumbledore through the fire. The search wasn't going well. No one had seen any sign of Harry at all. Ron was still upset that Fred and George were allowed to be a part of the search while he was stuck waiting with the girls. He had been over the letters a half-dozen times already and they weren't getting any more informative, but there wasn't much else to do until those allowed to search reported in. Thank goodness Snape is still sleeping off the pain potions. One thing guaranteed to make the situation worse right now is a conscious Snape.

***

Snape was at that moment in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. Before leaving, the Headmaster had insisted that he take some time to recover before joining in the others in the search. He had explained as best he could the general direction the chase had taken, but being unfamiliar with the area had little idea where the boy would go. The pain potions were dragging at his weary mind and he was soon asleep . . .

. . . Another bedroom, this one full of toys and nonsense, walls covered in thankfully unmoving pictures of scantily clad girls. The Death Eaters were enthusiastically tearing and smashing the contents of the room while more searched the other rooms for the home's residents. He left the room to search alone. If he could find the boy first, perhaps he could do something to aid in his escape. 

He proceeded down the hall and found himself standing before what must be a storage closet, its door littered with locks of every variety and a flap of unknown purpose. A simple _"Alohomora," _and the door opened. He stepped in quietly and looked around for any signs of Potter hiding in the small forsaken room. It was definitely not a storage closet he determined, noting the bare walls and small bed. He whipped around abruptly after a yell from Pettigrew startled him. He had apparently slipped into the small room behind him and with that shout the remaining Death Eaters followed, scrambling to his side. No sooner had the room filled, then the front door was heard and it emptied again. "Potter is getting away!" a voice declared as they spilled out the door in pursuit. "Why does he run?" the Dark Lord scowled. "I'd sooner die than be forced to sustain my existence in a place such as this . . ."

The dream changed suddenly . . . Light rain was falling in the cool graveyard. He stood silent among the circle of faceless black robes gathered around the Dark Lord. Voldemort was angry with his Death Eaters and was throwing insults and curses in rapid succession, the air filled with the tortured cries and whimpering of those already punished. Many of those who had joined in the raid lay crumpled, bleeding upon the ground till the soil beneath was red with their blood. One such unfortunate was Wormtail, whose plan it had been that failed. Voldemort punished him severely due to the humiliating escape of the boy-who-lived literally dragging him from the smouldering ruins to the place he now lay. The only sign of life the Animagus gave was the occasional twitch of his fingers in time with his shallow breath.

The Dark Lord's wand followed his eyes and for the first time aimed at Snape. Any and all viewed as actually responsible for the escape already lay battered on the ground while those less culpable awaited their punishment. "Fools and incompetents – you are neither Snape, but the boy still lives and I expect to alter that situation soon." He paused briefly, apparently in thought before he decided, "_Crucio!_" After an agonizing minute the curse was lifted. "You were there. You saw the room, why does he continue to resist me?" Before he could speak, the curse was on him again, body writhing from the fresh waves of pain. Fingers clenching blood soaked earth, the same as his sleeping body clung to the sheets around him. The curse was lifted once more. At that moment the Dark Lord expected him to rise, but his arms seemed to lack the strength to aid him. A sudden kick to his head simultaneously broke his nose and sent his body flying several feet . . . 

. . . At that moment, Snape's rigid body relaxed collapsing suddenly onto the mattress underneath him as the tension in his arms gave way jarring him awake. His hands were still clenched around the sheets that moments ago had been the blood soaked earth of his dream, the gravestones replaced by walls. He was gasping for breath. The images had been so frighteningly real till the merciful landing on soft rumpled cotton sheets. He reached into the darkness for the last of his pain potion and wondered how many nights he would relive the horrors of that day.

***

He knew the cold and the screams . . . The black robed figures could only be dementors. There were dementors surrounding Diagon Alley. Harry clung desperately to his slick broom, knuckles white with tension. He had pulled his broom up sharply and didn't stop climbing till his mother's screams faded from his ears and he didn't stop shaking for a good deal longer. He could still feel the ache of despair deep in his soul. He'd spent the summer learning to cope with his godfather's death and in one night it seemed his efforts were in vain.

His breaths came in sporadic gulps as he fought to calm himself. Harry was eager to start putting miles between himself and the dementors, but he didn't know which direction to head. Where was he going to go now? The Burrow was empty, Diagon Alley has dementors and Grimmauld Place is the most likely reason for the whole trap at Privet Drive . . . Where could he go that he wouldn't be putting someone else in danger? Where would he be safe? Hogwarts, the only place safer than Gringotts, at least according to Hagrid, but there isn't anyone at Hogwarts during the summer. Perhaps he could fly to Hogsmeade and use the floo at the Three Broomsticks to contact the Order . . . 

It can be hard to think things through thoroughly and logically when soaking wet on a broom, with an empty stomach and dementors lurking somewhere below, but Harry tried his best. He had after all flown to Hogwarts once before in the Weasleys' flying car and Hogsmeade shouldn't be any different. They simply followed the train tracks from King's Cross. Why couldn't it be done again, this time on his Firebolt? With a new plan in mind he set off toward King's Cross in hopes of arriving at Hogsmeade by morning.

He cringed inwardly for a moment as he thought about Ron and Hermione again. Did they know of the attack on Privet Drive yet . . . ? Did anyone . . . ? Were Death Eaters still waiting at the Dursleys' for him or anyone else that showed up to check on him? He hoped he could send an owl to them soon. This one day had felt like three and he suddenly felt the need to makeup for the distance he had put between himself and his friends. 

Harry felt choked by emotion. He missed Hedwig as much as he missed his friends. He hadn't paid her as much attention as she deserved this summer, but it wasn't easy between chores and punishments. The blame didn't lie entirely upon the Dursleys. He was grieving the loss of his godfather and was often unfit company for man or beast. Thinking back to the dementors in the streets he wondered if he would live to see her again and he regretted not taking a moment to tell her goodbye.

***

Things were picking up quickly at Order headquarters. Dumbledore had called in a few favors to gain much needed assistance with the search. It gave those who had been at it for many hours a break, a quick bite to eat or at least a change of scenery. Members who had been outdoors in the rain for hours traded with more fortunate wizards such as Mundungus who had been inside warming a barstool. Fred and George proceeded to the Burrow to trade posts with Bill and Charlie. It gave them the opportunity to update their brothers on the status of the search. 

The fire flared and Mundungus stepped into the kitchen. Dumbledore spoke first, "Mundungus you're supposed to be relieving Dedalus . . ." 

Before the words were even finished Mundungus declared, "dementors – I saw 'em outside the Leaky Cauldron . . . they got it staked-out." 

Molly Weasley looked up from her tea and was glad she had sent the children to bed. Sleep would come hard enough without them knowing that the dementors were already gathering. She hoped they'd get some sleep while there was someone else available to help organize the search efforts. Who knew how long the search would take, she thought sadly.

Dumbledore turned to Remus. "Could you check up on the groups we've got out there? Make sure they can conjure a Patronus." 

Remus nodded, "I'll pack some chocolate to give to the others." With that said, he packed and was on his way.

"There are dementors surrounding Diagon Alley waiting for Harry." The room gave a collective shudder and many clutched their tea cups a bit tighter seeking comfort in the warmth. "We must find him first." Dumbledore's voice was intense and left no hint of the exhaustion he was enduring. He'd have to alert the Ministry immediately. 

***

Lord Voldemort was seated on his throne in an empty room, brooding. Torchlight flickered across the empty expanse enhancing the madness playing in his crimson eyes. There was no one there to grovel at his feet or kiss his fresh robes. He had punished them all severely for daring to disappoint him once again and he decorated his robes in their blood. Now clean and alone he was left to wonder how many of his loyal had splinched themselves trying to exit the graveyard. 

Harry Potter had escaped once again, thanks to those sniveling worthless incompetents he surrounded himself with. They had grown soft in his absence, and he needed them strong. As much as he wanted to witness the death of the boy-who-lived he could now see the young man would make a more promising follower than many of those who already bore his mark . . . with the right coercion . . . If the boy would join him, his ranks would swell with new recruits, new blood. 

"It is time for a new plan," the Dark Lord confessed to the empty room, "a better plan . . . this time I will ensure it is worth the wait."

***

Albus Dumbledore sat in quiet contemplation. The Ministry, had been notified of the presence of dementors in Muggle London and were preparing Obliviators to deal with any unfortunate witnesses. It was more than he had hoped for, being accustomed to the Ministry's history of letting problems fester until they could no longer possibly be ignored. Apparently seeing Voldemort back in the flesh with his own eyes was enough to convince Fudge that he had been wrong.

Molly Weasley had been clucking after him like a mother-hen trying to get him to take a break, and he finally relented. He sat at one end of the scrubbed wooden table with a cup of tea reading the small collection of correspondence left awaiting his attention by Ron Weasley. After setting down the last parchment he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wondering silently, would Harry be able to summon a happy memory strong enough to drive off a dementor? All things considered the boy had been through a rather rough year. The clues as to how his relatives were making his summer weren't so much in what was written as what was not, and after today's encounter with the Dursleys his fears were all but confirmed.

He was still sitting there at the table when Snape entered the room. After pouring them each a cup of tea Snape took a seat across from the Headmaster. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea before either spoke. "Did you get some rest Severus?" 

"If you can call it that." Snape responded between sips of tea while trying not to notice the mud still caked under his short nails. "And you, Albus?"

"It seems this isn't a day meant for rest, and once the Daily Prophet comes out, tomorrow won't be any better."

Snape nodded silently staring at his tea. He knew he would have to relay the events of his day in further detail as sure as he knew Molly would soon be pressuring him to eat. The Headmaster would want to know what had happened at the boy's home, he just hoped it could wait until after another silent cup of tea.

***

Approaching the ground yet remaining safely out of sight, Harry scanned the brightly lit train station for any sign of trouble. He allowed himself a sigh of relief. There was nothing out of the ordinary at King's Cross. Perhaps that meant Voldemort hadn't foreseen this plan of action. Perhaps it would be safe, not that he could see much else to do if it wasn't. After one last look around, he found the tracks him and Ron followed on their eventful trip before second year. He wondered if they would be harder to follow in the dark. It was a moonless night, a fact he had been thankful for in the populated area around London, but as he followed the tracks leading away from the city lights he wondered how low he could safely fly in overcast skies without risking discovery.

The city gave way slowly, lights fading, the buildings on the cities outskirts becoming fewer and farther between until giving way to woodlands then rolling hills. It was a relief to be following the tracks toward Hogwarts. Despite the trials of his fifth year and honestly a few each of the years before, Hogwarts meant safety, Hogwarts meant home and Hogsmeade was nearly as good. 

It would mean facing his demons a bit early this year . . . coming to terms with the guilt that was eating him up . . . the remainder of his summer with the Dursleys would have given him time to deal with those memories. He knew Dumbledore had been right. There was so much he had told him too late, but he was right. It was about time he grew up and faced his life. He needed to come to terms with the things he said as well as what he did to the Headmaster's office. He could see it clearly in his mind littered with broken gadgets . . . the look of disappointment in the Headmaster's eyes . . . he'd let his anger guide him, now he needed to turn things around before all was lost.

***

Hedwig shifted anxiously on the perch she was sharing with Ron's owl Pig. She didn't normally spend the night after delivering a message for Harry and it was obvious she was itching to return to harry despite her small cage and infrequent meals. She had tried sticking out her leg as a hint, but was just given sad looks before they walked away.

Much like her master, she didn't eat much of what had been offered. Perhaps it was due to the fat mouse she ate on her way to deliver the post. More likely it was the uneasy feeling in the air around the house's occupants.

***

Eyes too tired to focus drifted shut and snapped open a moment later. The rise and fall of the ground below were barely recognizable in the darkness. A yawn. A quick rub of the eyes and then glasses were adjusted back up on his nose. Had to follow the train tracks, don't lose the tracks. Another jaw popping yawn. The green eyes blinked open and shut rapidly, trying to focus in the darkness. How far had he come? How much farther was there? How long till he was in a warm bed with a full stomach? Cold numb hands tightened on the broomstick and eyes fluttered shut again. 

Flying a little lower helped bring everything back into focus. A little lower wouldn't hurt, he was after all still tightly wrapped in his father's cloak, not that it did much for the cool wind further tormenting his aching limbs. He'd finally adjusted the hood so it didn't flap against his frozen ears in the wind.

He missed the warm comfort of the train and the dimpled witch selling Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs. He wondered how long it would take before he'd be able to straighten his fingers properly after clinging to the cold broomstick for so long. He shifted his position slightly, stretching tense muscles for a moment and altered his grip. The position he was in placed his weight on some of his freshest bruises and was making him rather uncomfortable. Perhaps the discomfort would help him stay awake.

Endless minutes were spent with eyes trained to the now blackened horizon. Focusing first before him then in quicker glances behind, although his gut was free from uneasy feelings the logical part of his mind worried over the chance of pursuit, but what he could see of the sky remained thankfully clear.

He couldn't stop yawning, eyes fluttering shut just to snap open once again in a futile battle between the lure of sleep and the need to remain alert. He blinked and rubbed at his burning eyes only to be disappointed with the stinging results. He hadn't realized what a physical and mental drain his brief encounter with the dementors had been. He was already knackered from hours spent eluding Death Eaters since the attack on Privet Drive and dementors only compounded the problem.

A yawn turned into a contented sigh as the air warmed around him. The warm comfort only held him briefly before he was startled awake by the reality of cold wind and slap of tree branches on his aching body. Harry, in his exhaustion had failed to notice the ground rising up to meet him, bringing the tree tops dangerously close. He faltered for a moment and it was too late.

Though the branches were heavily cushioned by the summer's foliage, it also made a recovery from the blunder near impossible. Harry struggled to maintain control of the broom as he wove through the tight grove of oaks, branches thrashing him from ahead and both sides. He was tossed to and fro as he bounced off trees large and small, while trying to regain control of his broom.

With a sickening crack Harry crashed hard upon the wet earth, despite his attempt to roll to lessen the impact. He attempted to sit up and assess the condition of his broom, but only managed to roll onto his side and vomit the meager contents of his stomach before he passed out.

*** 

_tbc_ . . .

  


~ Whomping Willow ~


	6. Have you seen this boy

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow_ ~

Disclaimer: I still don't own any part of Harry Potter or his magic world.

***

Chapter six: Have you seen this boy ~

  


It was dark and cold encircled him, embraced him. Wondering for a moment why he hadn't shut the window on such a raw evening, Harry succumbed to unconsciousness again. 

Vague sensations of pain nagged Harry into consciousness next. He struggled to recall what rule he had broken to incite his uncle into such a thorough punishment. He was becoming more aware of how badly his body was aching and he felt so cold. Perhaps his fat cousin had failed his exam once more. Uncle Vernon had taken the day off – again, so he could be there when Dudley passed his test. It wouldn't be the first time his uncle had punished Harry for something Dudley had done. Wasting his uncle's day off was a punishable offence – or perhaps it was the toaster . . . he thought for a minute and then realized why that couldn't be. 

His mind went from zero to sixty in two seconds, thoughts washing over then threatening to drown him. He tried to sit up, but felt tied into place. That thought sent a whole new kind of panic through him. Death Eaters – the attack . . . Harry dreaded the cold numbing his limbs may be that of a dungeon. Green eyes flew open struggling to focus on the confusing myriad of images before him.

***

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was beginning to resemble a bed-n-breakfast. Exhausted Order members filtered in and out of the kitchen in shifts seeking hot tea but little in the way of nourishment. There was a feeling of stillness that the room's occupants seemed unwilling to break and their stomachs were too nervous to hold down anything as substantial as Molly Weasley was serving.

The lack of progress in the search was disheartening, and the children were the ones most affected. Hermione was so consumed by the thoughts of what should have been that she could scarcely focus on her book. She was researching Location Charms despite the fact that Dumbledore had assured her Harry was not susceptible to such charms. If she had only been able to alert the Order sooner . . . she thought dejectedly. 

Ginny sensing her distress came to sit beside her, after all there was only so much she could do to help her mother in the kitchen without getting underfoot. They shared a brief smile. Even without words her presence was a comfort. 

Ron was brooding upstairs. He had caught enough of the morning's conversations to realize things weren't going well. He worried about his best friend. He knew Harry had held his own in some really bad situations, but Harry was alone and there were dementors searching for him. He looked at the small package sitting wrapped on his bedside table. He had bought Harry's birthday present just days ago and now looking at it caused a feeling of emptiness he was almost afraid to acknowledge. 

He wondered for a moment if Pig would be able to find Harry wherever he was. After all, Hedwig had reached Sirius when he was on the run, even when Harry had no idea where he was hiding. What a stroke of genius, he could hardly believe Hermione hadn't thought of it already. That thought in mind, Ron picked up some parchment and a quill and scratched off a quick note to Harry hoping it would make it to his lost friend. He considered telling someone what he was planning before he did it, but couldn't bear the thought of them attempting to dissuade him.

Wrapping the note tight to the leg of the tiny owl, he opened the bedroom window and sent it on its way. He watched as it disappeared into the distance and hoped for the best.

***

Albus Dumbledore had little rest during the night. After a few silent cups of tea the Headmaster had retired to a private parlor with the Potions Master to discuss the attack in further detail. The stoic man had been hesitant to describe the condition of the Dursley home upon their arrival, especially the small bedroom with the bare walls. It had all the comfort and warmth of a prison cell and paired with the images from their Occlumency lessons, Snape felt that description was disturbingly accurate.

Severus explained that the attack had been planned with the combined effort of the Dark Lord and Wormtail. That information was easily acquired due to Wormtail's incessant gloating. The rat had somehow discovered Potter's location and told his master in hopes of gaining his favor. Due to the failure of the attack the plan backfired and now it was not certain whether the Animagus would even live. 

Unfortunately the account of the day's events gave no hint as to_ if_ or _ how_ Harry had known about the attack, long enough before hand to already be hiding when they arrived. It troubled Albus to hear that Voldemort had recognized the small room as Harry's immediately upon entry. Had his two orphaned students shared so much similar history, despite his efforts to prevent it, that he could see evidence of Harry's suffering and know to whom it belonged?

Despite their similarities, Voldemort was far from compassionate, quite the opposite actually. He was disgusted that the boy had allowed Muggles to torment him for so long and had told Severus so. 

***

Harry tried to sit up after adjusting his filthy spectacles from where they sat askew on his nose, the world tilting precariously as it came into focus. He was half sitting in a muddy puddle in a small clearing, surrounded by towering oak trees and low brush. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was cold and filthy. When he shifted his weight, the pain that ripped through him confirmed that his arm was most definitely broken, but he was alive and there was no sign of Death Eaters or dungeons. It was indeed a strange time to celebrate, but the sight of his Firebolt whole and undamaged drew a whoop of delight from the pathetic crumpled heap that was Harry Potter.

Further inspection proved that his cloak was also in better condition than Harry could have hoped, or even was himself. He realized when he bothered to look, that the trees had left his body scraped and bruised. It certainly explained the terrible ache that seized his boy as he shivered. He thought that for perhaps the first time in his life he may actually miss Privet Drive.

Waves of nausea distracted him from his reverie. He needed to get moving. Harry knew he had been lying there for a few hours at least, and he couldn't tell how long he'd be safe. He hoped that by walking he would warm up and get some idea as to where he was. He didn't dare risk his broom in daylight without knowing if there was anyone about to see him, and he wasn't quite sure he felt up to another flight just yet.

Looking around, Harry couldn't be sure which direction the train tracks were. He had been thrashed around by the trees and now he was so turned around it all looked the same. He knew he had heard something about which side of the tree the moss grew on telling the direction, but he couldn't remember how it went. 

He looked to the sky feeling the sun warm on his face, and was glad that yesterday's clouds had burned off. He supposed that it was before noon, so if he put the sun to his right that should mean he'd be facing north, then he'd just need to put it to his left after noon. It was highly imprecise, but it gave him something to work with instead of aimlessly wandering till nightfall.

Gathering his cloak and broom, he did his best to wrap up tight, invisible to the eyes of anything that chose to exist in these woods. With the sun to his right he walked north. He was nervous, walking as silently as possible while trying to stay in the sunny spots to warm his chilled bones.

When he was a little boy, in the cupboard under the stairs, he learned not to be afraid of the dark or spiders like Ron. In the time since he discovered he was a wizard, Harry had learned there was a lot more to fear than he ever realized before. Night or day there was more to fear in the world than Uncle Vernon.

***

THE BOY WHO LIVED, MISSING

  


In a brief statement on Monday evening, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed reports that Harry Potter also known as the Boy Who Lived is missing after an attack on his home.

"It is with great sorrow I must inform you that sometime early this morning Death Eaters attacked and destroyed the home Harry Potter has been residing in with his Muggle relatives. We are all thankful that there were no fatalities and are doing everything in our power to ensure Mr. Potter's safe return."

The Muggle home was attacked and destroyed by supporters of You-Know-Who sometime in the early morning hours. According to an unknown witness, the Boy Who Lived escaped the home shortly after the Death Eaters attacked. At this time no fatalities have been reported. It is rumored that the Muggles were not at home at the time of the attack, but were unavailable for comment.

The attack has also been linked with the presence of dementors in the area surrounding Diagon Alley. It is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has ordered the dementors to search likely locations for the Boy Who Lived.

In another official statement Minister Fudge said, "We are all saddened by the events of this day. The Ministry in coordination with Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry etc., is focusing its efforts on finding Mr. Potter and returning him to his family and friends safely. We are asking the public to please get involved in the search."

This attack is reminiscent of the attack on Godric's Hollow nearly fifteen years ago that resulted in the deaths of James and lily Potter, and brought about the temporary downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

For more on this and other related stories see page 6.

***

As expected the Daily Prophet had stirred up quite a commotion in the wizard world. Owls arrived frequently, bearing offers of assistance as well as supposed sightings. All reported sightings were being taken seriously, but it was an exercise in futility. It seemed that every bespectacled brunette Wizard and Muggle alike was being reported as the missing teen.

There were unfortunately Howlers as well raving about the irresponsibility of Dumbledore and the Ministry to leave the Boy Who Lived in the care of a bunch of helpless Muggles. The Howlers of course woke those unfortunate enough to attempt to catch some sleep upstairs and sent the portrait of Mrs. Black into fits of screeching insults loud enough to wake the dead.

Although Professor Snape had assured the Order that there were very few Death Eaters in good enough health to search for Harry Potter, many persisted in the idea that Voldemort's minions would be swarming the streets and the public should be warned. Instead the warning had gone out about the very real threat of dementors, specifically in the areas surrounding Diagon Alley.

Along with the story about the attack, the Daily Prophet had printed photos of Harry taken in his fourth-year, for the Triwizard tournament and reprinted a guide to defending yourself from dementors. 

When Dumbledore saw the front-page, he hoped that Harry would live to see it, even though he would be appalled that he'd made the papers again. He couldn't help but blame himself. If he hadn't sent the boy back to those miserable people . . . but now was not the time for second guesses, there was some positive news at last.

Professor Snape had given him the results of the tests he had been running on the muddy parchment. It proved the mud did in fact come from a wooded area not far from the Dursleys' home. That must mean it had to have been sent after Harry's escape and gave them a new location to search, as well as the hope that Harry was indeed on his way.

***

The sun had passed overhead and was now warming Harry's left as he continued his journey north. He kept his steps quiet and his ears trained for the slightest disturbance. Mice danced in the leaf litter and birds sang in the trees, but what he was listening for most was running water.

He'd been so thirsty when he woke that he licked the raindrops off leaves that hung on the low tree branches, and that was enough for a while. Now he longed for a real drink from a stream or a pond. It wasn't like he'd never been thirsty before, he'd spent many a day in his cupboard longing for a drink, but somehow knowing the tap was in the next room made it more bearable. 

***

Another doorbell rang, and another sickeningly pleasant housewife answered the door. 

"Good day Mam, I was wondering if you could take a moment to look at a few pictures and let me know if you've seen this boy? He ran away from home yesterday and his family is terribly worried about him." Tonks lied smoothly and handed a few nonmoving photographs to the friendly woman.

After looking them over briefly she handed them back with an apology, "I'm sorry I haven't seen him, such a good-looking boy I'm sure I'd have remembered if I had."

Tonks nodded and thanked the woman for her cooperation before walking off toward the next house. She hated going door to door, but if it helped them to find Harry it would be worth it.

***

The Ministry was far from immune to Howlers. For every one of the scarlet envelopes that tracked down Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place, three arrived on the desk of Minister Fudge, at least that is what Minister Fudge had claimed. They both diplomatically avoided laying blame during their fire chats, but the Headmaster knew if Fudge came under fire politically he would abandon their new found peace in favor of keeping his job.

Things had been far from quiet at the Ministry since June, and Minister Fudge had made backpedaling an art form. He had not been alone in witnessing Voldemort's presence in the Ministry of Magic, and there had been no way left for him to deny the Dark Lord's reappearance. He had refused to accept Voldemort's return for over a year, publically laying blame on anyone who got in his way. Unfortunately that had made Harry Potter the Ministry's whipping boy. When the truth came out, Fudge struggled to avoid being forced out of office for his mistakes. Now with Harry Potter missing things were heating up once again and Dumbledore knew it wouldn't be long before Fudge chose his next scapegoat.

***

Stomach rumbling and muscles on fire, Harry wove his way through the dense underbrush. It was more like the Forbidden Forest than he liked to contemplate although not near so dark. He had found a small brook at some point and drank his fill before washing some of the dried blood and dirt off his face and hands. It was almost too tempting to stay there, but he knew that where there was water there would likely be animals and the sound of the brook would conceal the sound of danger approaching.

The more he walked the more he hurt. It seemed no matter how still he tried to keep his arm it would shift slightly with his steps, causing spots to dance before his eyes. He found himself clinging to the occasional tree till he regained his senses. 

Thoughts kept wandering to food, not that he didn't know better. After all those days locked in his cupboard without a bite he ought to know better than to dwell on what he couldn't have, but he was supposed to be stuffed with tea and biscuits by now. He needed a distraction. Something less torturous to think about perhaps . . . nothing coming to mind, he decided to at least follow a more productive line of thought.

Perhaps it was time to ponder some of the unanswered questions that had been swimming in his head, such as, how did Voldemort find him? He was supposed to be safe, Dumbledore said so. He chewed his lip wondering whether or not Mrs. Figg had been telling him everything . . . if she didn't want to upset him, she might have kept something from him . . . that could explain how Voldemort got past the wards – What if Dumbledore had been . . . killed . . .

A dull ache filled his chest. He knew he wasn't exactly thinking clearly, but he couldn't think of any other way . . . Dumbledore had always protected him, in his way. He didn't lie so much as keep him from the truth, sheltering him. He told him he had done it because he cared – please gods no . . . not someone else who cared, dead? 

Fatigued, his mind quickly settled upon the sad conclusion that he was now one more step closer to being alone in the world. It was becoming clear, the killing wouldn't stop until he found a way to kill Voldemort. 

The Prophesy said he must kill him. "With a power the Dark Lord knows not" . . . Harry chuckled mirthlessly, 'power Voldemort knows not?' It would have helped if the Headmaster had been a bit more specific. He had no idea what Dumbledore meant, but he did know that in killing Voldemort he'd become a murderer as well. Would it have been better if he'd just stayed there in the cupboard and waited . . . to die . . . yes, but to die innocent . . . and to be with Sirius.

Harry shook himself hard out of those morbid thoughts . . . No, can't let Voldemort win. He'd been through too much to give up now. It was time to fight. 

A bit more confidence showed in Harry's step as he proceeded, weaving along through the forest. The decision to fight and not give in showed in every stride. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and his foot slipped on a moss-covered root. He spilled onto the ground jarring his broken arm painfully and tearing open his knee. He bit his lip hard to avoid cursing loudly. He readjusted his cloak and stood up trying to see what caught his eye. It was that moment that Pig nearly collided with his head, fluttering frantically around him.

Harry sat back down as the pain made his head spin. He parted his cloak, coming into view and tried to coax the whirling ball of feathers to land. The tiny owl finally settled down on his good knee. It took a bit of work to get the note off without the use of his broken arm, but he managed. Unfolding the parchment, he found what looked like a hastily scribbled note. He immediately recognized Ron's messy writing.

_Harry – We've all heard about what happened at the Dursleys' and we're worried about you. I've got Hedwig here and she's safe, now stop being a git and let us know you're okay. I told Pig to wait for a reply. _

_ Ron_

Harry looked at the note and at Pig and asked aloud, "and what do you expect me to write with?" Pig merely blinked at him. That answered his question of whether or not they knew about the attack. He was glad to hear from Ron and knew a response would make them all feel better, but he wished Ron had the foresight to send a quill and ink. He decided some food wouldn't have hurt either. He thought hard about what would be safe to write, would fit on the small note and even what to write with. Just then he got an idea and scrawled as carefully as he could with his left forefinger on the back of the parchment.

Pig allowed Harry to secure the note and accepted his apologies for not having any owl treats, then went on its way. Harry envied the way the quick little owl easily slipped between the branches. If he had been able to do that he wouldn't still be here. It might not be safe here any longer if anyone was watching the tiny owl, so Harry stood up stiffly, readjusted his cloak and continued cautiously north.

It was getting late in the day and Harry was looking forward to giving his feet a break as soon as the sun set. Perhaps then he could get a better idea about where he was and even find some more water. He hoped the tracks hadn't turned. He really didn't want to have been wandering all day in the wrong direction.

***

When Hermione came upstairs to tell Ron that supper was ready he was still brooding in his room. She knocked on the door and then pushed it open after hearing his murmur to come in. He looked as bad as Ginny, she decided as she sat on the bed beside him. They shared a hug.

"Your mom said you've been up here all day, and wants you to come down to supper. She's awfully worried about you."

"Not hungry," Ron muttered into her shoulder.

"Now _I'm_ worried," she added half teasing.

Ron shrugged in response, pulling away.

"Where's Pig?" Hermione asked, after noticing Hedwig alone on the perch.

Ron bit his lip glancing at the floor.

"Ron," Hermione said sternly, "what did you do?"

Ron glanced up sheepishly not really meeting her eye. "I sent off a note to Harry."

"You what?! Ronald Weasley how irresponsible . . . what if it was followed – or captured?"

Ron's mouth worked wordlessly before he decided on, "at least I didn't send Hedwig . . ."

"Did you at least think to send him something to write with along with it?"

Ron smacked his head, cursing quietly.

"Ron, we have to tell Dumbledore. Harry could be in danger . . ."

Ron looked green as he caught her serious expression. He stood up hesitantly then headed down stairs to talk to the Headmaster and push some food around a plate of dinner.

Hermione all but pushed Ron through the door into the kitchen. "Professor," Hermione called over his shoulder. "Ron has something to tell you."

Ron was beginning to rethink his choice of friends as he shot her a glare. "Erm – I sent a note to Harry . . . with Pig."

The Headmaster didn't even have the opportunity to speak before Ron's mother started in. "Ronald Weasley, how can you be so irresponsible . . ."

Ron ducked his head to avoid the stares of those already seated at the table, but he couldn't help but notice how much his mother and Hermione sounded alike.

"I know you are worried about Harry, but that is a very dangerous thing you did," Dumbledore stated disapprovingly. 

"If you were going to take that kind of risk you might as well have included a Portkey . . ." chided Ginny.

". . . and if Voldemort got to it first he could replace it with his own. Harry doesn't need another reminder of the third task right now," corrected the Headmaster.

Before anything more was said, the fluttering ball of feathers flew through the room crashing into Ron's chest. He let out a small 'oof' and scrambled to get the note off the excited owl. 

"It doesn't look like Pig found him, or maybe he didn't write anything," Ron stated sadly seeing the note wrapped around the leg much the same as he had left it. It wasn't till it was free of the bird that he noticed one messy word.

"Blasted git," Ron declared, "does he think that is reassuring?"

He handed the note to Dumbledore who also frowned at the message. One solitary word was written in blood . . .

_ALIVE_

"Well, with what you gave him to write with what do you expect," chided Hermione. "With nothing but a small scrap of paper, his finger and some wet mud Harry couldn't fit much."

"Actually 'Mione, I think it's blood." 

"Maybe we should've sent a Portkey," she whimpered.

***

_tbc_ . . . 

~Whomping Willow ~

  



	7. Lost and Found

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow_ ~ 

Disclaimer: Just a reminder, I don't own any part of Harry Potter. He is the wonderful creation of J. K. Rowling. 

***

Chapter seven: Lost and Found ~

  


Harry Potter ambled through the woods feeling more alone than he had ever felt at Privet Drive, even while mourning the loss of his godfather. Although the woods seemed to thrum with unseen life, it left him feeling even more isolated. He had been totally unprepared for the long hours of walking through the unfamiliar hills, but he feared staying put and risking discovery. With little other choice, he continued to walk in hopes of avoiding anything dangerous.

As he wandered onward through the maze of undergrowth, he thought of Professor Sprout and the one thing her Herbology classes lacked most . . . they didn't cover edible wild plants. He looked longingly at the prolific mushrooms growing wild near a rotting tree. Although bland, he thought they would fill his growling stomach adequately, but he knew some were poisonous. Harry hadn't escaped death at his relative's home just to die of food poisoning now. He wouldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction of such an easy victory.

Harry realized he had too much left to fight for to start taking stupid risks that could get him killed. One thing that was still nagging at him was the note he had sent back to Ron, but he'd really had little choice. Harry had thought carefully over his options while Pig fluttered around excitedly. He knew he couldn't send back the eager owl with an unanswered message, they would surely have feared the worst, but if he gave away his location or destination he would be putting himself at too great a risk. He'd wanted to reassure his friends as much as he wanted to ask them for assistance, but he knew anything he told them could easily fall into the wrong hands.

He'd also had nothing to write with and Ron hadn't thought to include anything either. So he had done what he thought was best and took a chance, hoping that someone would realize it wasn't a sign of peril but merely an act of necessity, and wrote a simple assurance in his only option, blood. It had most likely been delivered by now, and Harry hoped that they had understood. 

Time was dragging on and exhaustion fogged his mind blurring the events of the past few days. If Voldemort found Harry now, he would likely scoff at his pathetic state, call it a waste of magic to kill him. Along with his broken arm, he was bleeding from scratches on his arms and legs due to the sharp thorned vines that grew thick in some places. They somehow managed to inflict their wounds without shredding the thin fabric, leaving faint patches of red stiffening the dark cloth as the only outward sign of injury. He wanted to make sure to tidy up before contacting anyone in town or he may never be allowed into the Three Broomsticks again.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon, he felt safe enough to attempt another flight. It wasn't that he felt he'd be much more stable on his broom than his feet, but it was about the only way to make it if he was ever going to reach Hogsmeade.

A small clearing was the one thing he needed for an easy takeoff, and it only took a few minutes to settle on a spot. There was a patch of woods where the trees were smaller and would be easier to negotiate. 

Harry mounted his broom, grasping the handle with his good arm, and kicked off. He noticed the difference immediately. The broom which had so often felt like it was a part of him suddenly felt foreign. The awkward grip in conjunction with the unnatural way his body leaned to one side cradling his injury, reduced his chance of remaining airborne. The tension in his body made it ache all the more. 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry scanned the ground for the tracks that had led him this far. The parallel lines stood out sharp against the smooth natural curves of the country. It was a beautiful sight. His grimace turned to a smile for just a moment before the pain tore through him once again.

Although it was a blissfully clear night, it was still cold with the wind tugging at his cloak. Harry didn't dare fly too low and risk a repeat of his previous nights landing, but his body was protesting the flight nearly as loudly at it protested the walking. Harry's clothes were stiff from the drenching with mud, sweat, and blood. It made his position on the broom far less comfortable than in Quidditch robes.

He really needed to find more water. Food he was sure he could live without a little longer, but the thirst was a constant companion. 

The stars were bright in the near cloudless sky and gave Harry something to distract him from his thirst and the tedium of scanning the dark horizon and undulating hills below. In the dark of night there was no sense of speed or distance. Faint lights of far-off cities occasionally appeared and disappeared from view, leaving Harry wondering how far he had come. There was no real way for him to judge. He could guess by the size and location of the cluster of lights, but they were just that, guesses. In the daylight he could perhaps recognize the scenery, but at night through scratched lenses it was all a blur.

A small break in the trees caught Harry's eye, drawing his attention to the patch of glittering light below. The smooth reflective surface he'd been dreaming of, a beautiful pond, waited for him. He circled searching the area for signs of habitation before descending to land along the wooded shore. He was infinitely grateful for the more precise landing. 

It was a secluded pond, tucked in a marshy valley of beech and willow trees just a little west of the tracks. The ground was covered in lush mosses and toadstools. It had a look of magic that Harry had never known outside of Hogwarts. The stars even seemed brighter from the forest floor than they had from his broom. Enchanted, Harry thought, as he scanned the area. In his mind's eye he could picture unicorns playing in the shallow water along the shore, so it came as little surprise when a fairy appeared and skimmed low across the water before disappearing among the weeds. 

The moonlight played on the glassy surface and Harry hurried to the shore dropping his broom along the way. He sank to his knees and plunged his uninjured left hand beneath the surface repeatedly scooping handfuls of water to his parched lips. He drank greedily unsure how long he might have to wait till his next opportunity to drink. The cool water was running down his neck soaking his shirt collar, and stinging in the shallow scratches on his arms and face. Despite the faint smell of stagnation, he thought water had never tasted so good.

Once his thirst was sated, he repeated his earlier efforts of rinsing off the worst of the blood and dirt. He had barely noticed that his wounded knee had reopened when he unceremoniously knelt at the water's edge, but it was now a bloody mess. His attention was focused on his wounds more than the water now that his belly was so full it sloshed when he moved. 

A cloud drifted across the moon obscuring its light leaving Harry crouched in the darkness. He felt relieved when the sky cleared allowing the moonlight to once again flood the valley. It was when Harry leaned over the glassy surface that he first noticed his reflection. His eyes widened with disbelief. He knew his hair would be in disarray and his face scratched, but his reflection proved he truly was a sight. 

He reached up with his left hand, touching his cheek, but the reflection scarcely showed his outstretched hand. He dropped it to the surface, momentarily confused until long fingers grasped his hand pulling it beneath the water's surface. He realized too late, as his body lurched forward, that the image in the water was not entirely his own, but a combination of his reflection and the face lurking beneath the murky water.

Thrown off balance, Harry fell forward into the shallow water. He tried, unsuccessfully, to draw a quick breath before his face was plunged beneath the surface. Arching his back, his head rose above water allowing for a few gasping breaths, but more long fingers entwined in his hair as he choked and spluttered. A painful grip was followed by a sharp tug on his broken arm, the bones shifting grotesquely causing spots to dance before his eyes. He fought against the darkness encroaching at the edge of his vision as he fought the hands holding him. Sharp teeth cut into his flesh as he struggled desperately to free himself.

The hands and teeth held tight as Harry struggled. This was not his first experience with grindylows, but this time he didn't have the benefit of magic to aid him. Knowing the long fingers holding him were brittle, Harry rolled and twisted hoping to break them. He tried to protect his throbbing arm from further attack, defending himself with his feet and anything he could grab with his other arm. His foot contacted one and sent it flying toward the far end of the pond, as the crunch of bone assured him his struggles weren't in vain. 

It had been foolish to drop his guard so thoroughly. The uneventful day of walking had lulled him into a false sense of security, underestimating the potential danger of the forest's creatures. Harry had no idea how many of the water demons there were as he sent another one flying into the weeds. They had somehow seemed like little more than a nuisance when Professor Lupin introduced them in Harry's third-year and again in his fourth when he could use magic to defend against them. Now injured and exhausted it took more energy than he thought he had to fight them from his prone position.

To magic the water demons away would end his Hogwarts career and potentially alert even more unsavory creatures to his distress. Unwilling to take those risks, Harry grabbed the nearest stick. He remembered Oliver Wood saying once that he'd make a 'fair Beater', and decided to get in a bit of overdue practice. Swinging with all his might at one of the green creatures, Harry tried to picture it as a Bludger and barely contained a whoop of delight when it sailed through the air to the other side of the clearing. 

More teeth punctured his flesh unwilling to give up their hold without a fight, and a fight was what Harry gave them.

When his release was announced with a final satisfying crunch of brittle fingers, Harry dropped his impromptu weapon and dragged himself away from the water's edge. His stomach churned as his left arm clutched his own broken limb close. Once his heaving stomach calmed down Harry gave in to the dizziness and lay down by his broom. Exhausted and in pain from the struggle he had no chance to fight for consciousness. Fairy lights danced over his head before darkness took him. 

***

At Grimmauld place, there had been much discussion over the short note Pig delivered. It had been unanimously decided that Ron had taken a terrible risk that couldn't be repeated, despite their desire for answers. It hadn't even been decided if the note was really from Harry. Although Ron trusted Pig to have delivered the note properly, the handwriting bore little resemblance to the other notes he had sent over the summer.

It was decided to keep the Ministry ignorant of the note till more was known. It was, after all, not a proven fact that they'd had contact with Harry, it could be a Death Eater trick. If the Ministry knew of the note, they may be encouraged into a similarly dangerous action. What they needed was proof, and the Headmaster hoped that Professor Snape would be able to prove whose blood was on the note, if nothing else.

The Potions Master examined the note, confirming that the blood sample was adequate, being both large and fresh enough to test. He questioned those present about who had handled the note before and since its delivery. He wanted them prepared for the possibility that the tests would prove inconclusive due to its over handling. 

Even if he had all the ingredients at hand it would still take several hours for the Potions Master to prepare the potion they required. There was only one potion known to identify the source of blood by name and it was rare. It would mean visiting the otherwise vacant school to access his lab and ingredient stores. To Snape it was the perfect location, considering Hogwarts was the one place he could work without fear of interruption. 

Dumbledore wished Professor Snape luck and asked him to let them know the moment he got the results. Snape gave his word that the Order would be alerted the moment he had any answers, before he tucked the note safely away and left.

Molly Weasley ordered the children to bed despite their protests. There was really nothing that could be done until the blood could be identified either way. They were all worn out from too little sleep and more stress than children that age should have to handle. Molly still held firm in her opinion that the Order was no place for children.

She hoped the note wouldn't be another dead end like the last one had been. The Order had organized a more thorough search of the wooded areas and parks around the location tests proved the mud had come from, but there was no sign of Harry – not the slightest sign that he had ever been there. Was it possible Harry was skilled enough to hide the signs of his passing or was there an easier answer, perhaps even that Hedwig somehow dropped the note along the way?

Molly hoped the day would come soon when Harry could answer all their questions. She remembered the boggart from last summer, or more truthfully she couldn't forget it. Every time the image of Harry lying on the floor body bloody and broken passed through her memory, she feared it was one step closer to the truth. 

***

The first thing Harry became aware of when he drifted into consciousness was the fact that he was not alone. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it had been long enough that something had come to investigate. He could hear footsteps softly padding over dead leaves on the damp ground nearby and loud breathing. It wasn't till he felt something nudge his side that Harry's eyes shot open. He was too shocked to be afraid although he instinctively jerked back from the large black beast that was hungrily lapping at the fresh blood seeping through his shirt.

They appear even more imposing from this angle, he realized. His eyes followed a path up the long skeletal legs, noting how its black coat did nothing to hide the bones beneath. The dark dragonish head was punctuated by blank pupil-less eyes and one look at its fangs was enough to inspire movement. He tried to right himself quickly, feeling far too vulnerable lying prone at the thestral's feet. As Harry stood, his body pitched and swayed causing him to take a few staggered steps away from the large steed. The thestral followed lapping at the more heavily stained cloth reminding him painfully of his injuries and knocking him off balance again. He grabbed at its thin frame in order to steady himself.

Harry's mind was as weary as his body, he knew without a doubt that he was in no condition to fly his broom the rest of the way to Hogsmeade, but the thestral's presence must mean he was closer than he thought, it also meant he was in worse shape than he thought. He had hoped after his flight to the Ministry of Magic on one of these beasts that he would never have to mount one again, but now was not a time to look a gift horse – er- thestral in the mouth.

Harry began to speak to the imposing beast in the hopes it would be as tame as the last. He picked up his broom, ears rushing loudly when he righted himself, and checked to make sure his cloak still hung around his neck, although it no longer concealed him. He was no more confident that he'd be able to mount it than he was that he could fly his broom. His body felt weak and sore to the point where standing was difficult enough.

Harry asked if it would allow him to ride as it stretched its great bat-like wings, and even he wasn't sure if he was now barmy enough to expect an answer. Standing on a small rock he managed to hang onto his broom and successfully swing his leg over, scrambling onto its back. He vaguely remembered how to hang on securely with his knees clamped near the wings and hoped he had strength enough for the trip. He clutched his broom tight under his good arm before he grabbed a handful of mane and spoke in its ear, "Take me to Hogsmeade."

They rocketed into the air at a steep angle, gaining altitude with amazing speed and Harry hunkered low to the bony body. The shifting of wings and body below him made pain shoot through him at regular intervals and it took all his concentration to remember to hang on. The wind was tearing at him worse than when he was on his broom, and the world blurred forcing him to close his eyes or risk getting sick. 

The flight brought back terrible memories for Harry, memories of pain and death. He was surprised how easy it was to banish the painful memories though by focusing instead on the more persistent and physical pain he was experiencing. He had to trust the magical beast to deliver him to safety, because he knew he couldn't make this journey alone any longer.

Any attempt at focusing on their location resulted in waves of nausea and it was far warmer to lay his body flat on the boney back. With one arm clutching both broom and mane the other was allowed to rest between the two bodies in an attempt to minimize the jarring. 

A sudden change of direction forced Harry to adjust his position, and allow him a more secure hold. The moment he felt the handle of his broom shift, he knew it was too late to save. Any attempt to recover his precious broom would surely cost him his life and he hadn't fought so hard to give up now. He murmured a quick apology to Sirius for not being to save it and refocused his efforts to ensure he wouldn't be next.

The next time the thestral shifted it was into a steep dive causing him to shift slightly forward on its back. He was relieved to be descending and was looking forward to being back on solid ground. He always had and always would prefer a broom. 

Feeling the body beneath him stop, Harry opened his eyes. His eyelids felt heavier than he'd ever known as he summoned the strength to fall off the beast with only as much grace as necessary. The ground welcomed him as Harry dry heaved, wishing he'd had something in his stomach for the simple satisfaction of emptying it again. 

When the spasms surrendered their hold on his body enough to focus, Harry realized he was not in Hogsmeade. He was instead crumpled on the front steps of Hogwarts itself. Harry felt the need to chastise the animal despite the fact that it brought him to where he'd most like to be in the whole world, but the words were unintelligible even to him. 

He struggled to his feet once again, wondering why he bothered. The school was empty during the summer holidays and would surely be locked, but he needed to try considering he lacked the resources to attempt anything else. The thestral wandered off in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, perhaps in search of a meal more suitable than himself.

Standing on shaky legs, Harry approached the door. If somehow the door opened, he could find something to patch himself up with, if he could make it to the hospital wing, hardly a reassuring thought. He gripped the cool handle in his good hand, made a wish and turned the knob. The door swung open with a loud creak that lent an eerie feeling to the castle, but it did nothing to dissuade Harry from stumbling through the doorway. 

The door closed with a loud thud and Harry leaned back against the rough wood for support. The distant stairway seemed to shift despite the fact there was no one else here to notice, and he didn't have the strength left to do any more than watch. He hoped Peeves was otherwise occupied, for there was no strength left in him for a battle of insults with the poltergeist. 

He felt cold and his whole body seemed to shudder. He knew he needed to do something, but his thoughts seemed as thick as his limbs were heavy. Standing there was doing nothing to help the situation, but before he had a chance to move he sensed that once again he was not alone.

His eyes flitted from one dark corner to the next trying to focus, trying to see who or what was watching him. His knees nearly buckled when the voice rang out from the direction of the dungeon stair. 

"Well, what do we have here? If it isn't Harry Potter – the prodigal son . . . do tell me Mr. Potter – why is it you persist in the notion that you are too good to ride the train with the rest of Hogwarts populous?" Snape sneered as he stepped out from the shadows across the room. He was livid, how dare the boy waste their time – his time – wizards everywhere are searching for the boy-who-lived and now he strolls into Hogwarts like he owns it. "Just what kind of game do you think you've been playing? Always so short sighted . . . What's the matter Potter, have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Harry wanted to speak, to explain, but his head was spinning and the world was tilting precariously, words simply wouldn't come out. He was unaware that the shadows hid all evidence of his battered state, that his identity had been confirmed by nothing more than his stature and the reflection of his glasses.

Snape was even less pleased by Harry's lack of response. "Fine, if you do not wish to speak with me you shall accompany me to the Headmaster's office. We will use the fire there to contact Dumbledore. I am sure he would like to have a word with you."

Snape turned sharply and headed toward the Headmaster's office. He was going to floo the Order and let them know exactly what their golden-boy is up to.

Did he say, '_Dumbledore_?' Harry thought blankly, his thoughts too muddy to catch the meaning of his professor's words. 

Harry pushed off from the door in an attempt to follow Snape. He may not be his favorite person in the world and he may be in very big trouble, but at least the professor would be able to contact the Order and maybe get him a potion to keep the world from tilting so terribly. 

He was aware he was shuffling his feet and Snape was little more than a fuzzy black shape walking away from him. He wondered idly how they managed to keep the school so cold in the summer as he stumbled on behind his professor.

The Potions Master was stalking out of the entrance hall toward his goal. He looked forward to making a fool of Harry Potter just as Potter had always made a fool of him. Snape's anger made his memories of Harry's home recede, the conclusions he'd come to from what he'd seen washed away in a sea of renewed animosity. The boy looked a bit tired, he noted, and the cadence of his footsteps hinted at the presence of a limp, but it was obvious to him that Potter had been worrying his friends and the Order for nothing. 

His musings were interrupted by an unusual sound behind him, "Potter?!" Snape called out without turning, but there was no response.

Snape whirled around to see what trouble the boy was causing now. What he saw froze him in his tracks.

Harry Potter lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. A trail of blood clearly defined his staggered path from the front door to where he now lay unmoving on the cool stone.

"Bloody Hell!"

***

  


_tbc_ . . .

~Whomping Willow~


	8. The Homecoming

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow_

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

***

Chapter eight: The Homecoming ~

  


Hogwarts was silent but for the steady stream of vulgarities tumbling from the mouth of its only occupant. Professor Snape was in quite a foul mood. He had torn apart his private quarters for over an hour before he finally found the ancient tome he was searching for, the one that contained the potion formula for identifying blood. Another two hours passed before he confirmed his suspicions that one of the ingredients he had in storage was unsuitable for use in the potion. When he added the questionable items to the steadily simmering brew, it belched forth a thick shimmering cloud of purple smoke that hung in the air burning the back of his throat.

It appeared that due to an unfortunately short shelf life he would have to visit Hogsmeade once the shops opened and see if they had fresh vampire bat eyes. In order to waste as little time as possible he began preparing the ingredients he had on hand, once he cleared the smoke that is.

While he waited for the unpleasant cloud to disperse, he used the floo in his chambers to call the Headmaster and let him know not to expect any answers until mid afternoon, at the earliest. If the Apothecary in Hogsmeade didn't have the fresh ingredients, he would be further delayed by the subsequent trip to Diagon Alley. 

He had just settled in at his work station when a noise deep in the castle caught his attention. During the summer months the castle's front doors were spelled to squeak loudly, it was a way of alerting anyone in residence to the arrival of visitors or trespassers. Snape's presence itself was proof that it wasn't unheard of for a professor to visit the castle during the summer break, but he had a nagging feeling it wasn't a colleague returning to retrieve an essential book or forgotten parchment. 

With as much stealth as he could muster, Professor Snape exited the dungeons in search of the trespasser. If there had been any doubt in his mind it was removed when the front door creaked shut followed by a resounding thud. 

He slipped through the dim corridors to the entrance hall, finding an equally shadowed form leaning in the doorway. He watched cautiously awaiting the moment when the purpose for the intrusion was revealed. The visitor seemed in no hurry to explore the castle further, choosing instead to lean casually against the door which puzzled the Potions Master.

Curious, Snape approached staying concealed within the shadows near the dungeon stair. The shadowed figure was of a slight build, too slender to be fully grown, and he pondered if one of the children of Hogsmeade may have snuck in on a bet. It wasn't till the figure turned toward Snape that light reflected off the round lenses of his spectacles and doing so gave his identity away.

Stealth was no longer required so he abandoned the shadows. Snape called out as he strode further into the entrance hall stopping well short of the doors. 

"Well, what do we have here? If it isn't Harry Potter – the prodigal son . . . do tell me Mr. Potter – why is it you persist in the notion that you are too good to ride the train with the rest of Hogwarts populous?" 

Stepping out from the shadows to approach the boy across the room he affixed his customary sneer. He was consumed by anger, how dare the boy waste their time – his time – wizards everywhere are searching for the boy-who-lived and now he strolls into Hogwarts like he owns it. "Just what kind of game do you think you've been playing? Always so short sighted . . . What's the matter Potter, have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Harry Potter stood leaned against the front door without moving or uttering a word. It was disconcerting to say the least, seeing the obnoxious brat failing to rise to the bait.

Growing impatient with the silence, he called out to the shadowed figure. "Fine, if you do not wish to speak with me you shall accompany me to the Headmaster's office. We will use the fire there to contact Dumbledore. I am sure he would like to have a word with you."

There was still no response from the other to break the oppressive silence, but by this time he was no longer expecting one.

Turning sharply toward the Headmaster's office he stalked swiftly across the entry hall wondering if the _boy wonder_ would be bright enough to follow. He intended to floo the Order and let them know exactly what their golden-boy has been up to.

He smirked momentarily, looking forward to making a fool of Harry Potter just as Potter had always made a fool of him. His anger was rising to a level previously only accomplished by the Dark Lord and the annoying brat's father. 

The boy's body language hinted subtly of underlying fatigue, he noted, but that meant little considering the late hour. The cadence of his footsteps suggested the presence of a limp, but it was obvious to him that Potter had been worrying his friends and the Order for nothing. 

His musings were interrupted by an unusual sound behind him, perhaps best described as flesh on stone. "Potter?!" he called out without turning, but there was no response.

Whirling around to see what kind of trouble the boy was causing now, privately hoping to catch him in his mischief, he stopped frozen in his tracks at the sight before him.

Harry Potter was now a crumpled heap on the floor. A trail of blood clearly defined his staggered path from the front door to where he now lay unmoving on the cool stone.

"Bloody Hell!" his shout echoed off the stone walls. 

***

It was obvious now that Potter was out of the shadows that something had gotten the better of him in a fight. His skin was ashen and breathing shallow. Exactly who or what Harry had confronted since his escape was at that moment impossible to determine. Idiotic Gryffindor . . . why didn't he say something, Snape thought unkindly. "Potter!" Snape called hoping to rouse the boy, but Harry didn't stir. "Must you always make everything so difficult?" Snape asked uselessly his voice echoing in the empty room.

Snape aimed his wand and muttered, "_Mobile Corpus_," magically levitating Harry into the air. Dim light enhanced the dark shadows encircling the boy's eyes and the professor tried not to speculate. The silent journey to the hospital wing was broken only by the echo of his hurried footsteps up the marble staircase and along corridors. The professor had stopped berating his unconscious companion and instead collected his thoughts before the task of assessing his injuries began.

When they reached the hospital wing, the nearest bed was immediately occupied with the unconscious boy as Harry was dumped unceremoniously on the starched sheets. It allowed the professor's full attention to focus on his task of gathering all he could find in the potions stores. After returning with a tray loaded with vials, which Snape deposited on the bedside table, he proceeded to strip the boy revealing the extent of the injuries. 

Snape felt disquieted as the evidence of Harry's struggles lay bare before him. The skin exposed as he removed the soaked garments was pale and bruised, and he was so emaciated that the bones of his slight frame were clearly visible. Several cleansing spells had to be cast before the source of the bleeding was determined, blood had seemed to come from everywhere until the bites and scratches were revealed. His breaths were shallow, and even in unconsciousness Potter gave the impression of enduring great pain. It was not what the professor had expected at all, and he was left wondering if the Dark Lord's minions had somehow found him and done the damage before allowing him to escape.

Seeing Harry looking small and pale lying on the hospital bed made Snape long for the presence of Madam Pomfrey. Despite her meddling and mothering she is a competent Mediwitch and Potter's condition was troubling. Snape wrapped himself in his carefully constructed facade to hide any sign of concern. He knew coddling would do nothing to help Potter's condition, and seeing his greasy git of a Potions Master worried would most likely make him fear the worst.

Professor Snape could do nothing to heal Harry till he was awake and alert enough to drink healing potions, so he wasted no time in reviving him. "_Enervate,_" the Potions Master said with his wand pointed at Harry. A few quick gasps were heard and to the professor's relief green eyes fluttered open. Before a word of protest could be uttered, a vial was pressed against Potter's lips and he was ordered to swallow. His body shook as he coughed and choked on the foul tasting potion that burned all the way to his stomach.

When his coughing died down Harry tried to sit up, but he was promptly pushed back into the mattress by a rough hand on his right shoulder. His scream filled the air as tears filled his eyes.

"That confirms my suspicions of a broken collarbone, shall I check for more injuries or will you lie still?" Snape jeered as the stars cleared from Harry's vision.

Had Harry been closer to his right mind, he might've seen a hint of his professor's concern and held his tongue, but pain and fatigue had fogged his reasoning. "Youuu . . . utter bastard," he croaked and slurred slightly between gasping breaths.

"Now, now Mr. Potter, whereas I am not a trained Mediwitch I needed to confirm the particulars of your condition somehow," stated the professor as he forced another foul tasting potion down Harry's throat. "If you have any further complaints I could contact St. Mungo's . . . I am sure that Lockhart might be available, he did such a commendable job healing you last time . . ." his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Harry was too weak to rise to the bait or resist the professor's ministrations, but made his feelings clear with a look that would freeze fire. It brought the professor some relief to see the boy as impudent as ever, but a pained breath from the bed hastened his efforts.

Broken bones and bruises were low priority as potions to stop the bleeding were administered first, followed immediately by those to replenish the lost blood. He hoped the pain would help keep Potter conscious long enough to get a few more healing draughts down. When his eyes fluttered shut repeatedly, it became uncertain how long he would remain alert enough to continue swallowing the healing potions and Snape simply did not have appropriate training to attempt it with spells. The bites for instance were far too deep for his limited medical charms skills.

It occurred to the Potions Master that the viscous bites could have come from any number of different creatures, perhaps even something venomous that would require an antidote. Perhaps answering questions about them might force him to focus enough and prevent him from slipping away once more. "You're a mess Potter, what was it that mauled you?" he asked trying to gain Harry's attention.

Harry's eyes rolled unfocused for a moment before turning on the professor once again. "Ggrrrrnnnylwssss," he slurred worse than before, eyes fluttering shut.

"What the bloody hell, speak up boy," he snapped in an effort to pull him back from his approaching slumber. He hadn't expected it to work so well, as Potter's eyes flew open tinged with fear. Snape arched an eyebrow but remained silent. 

The discarded clothing piled on the floor stank of stagnant water and was enough to confirm the slurred word, but the longer he kept Potter awake and taking healing draughts the more likely he would recover. The professor employed every tactic he could think of to keep Potter slipping from consciousness. Every time Harry's eyes lost their focus and lids grew heavy Snape would ask another question or spit another insult to keep him accepting the potions. 

Nearly a dozen potions had made their way down Harry's gullet and there were still several more to go before Snape would even consider leaving him long enough to contact Dumbledore. It was then the professor was granted the unpleasant reminder that after getting them down keeping them down was an entirely different matter as Potter began to shake and heave up the contents of his stomach into an ugly pool on the blankets. The swearing fell on deaf ears as Harry drifted off once again.

"Perhaps a bit of warning next time, Potter," Snape chided, but there was no response. "Potter!" he barked and was relieved as the boy swallowed thickly and forced his eyes open once more.

The spell to calm his stomach was too late and Snape cursed himself for not anticipating its necessity, considering how many potions he had forced on Potter's empty stomach. He would need to start the cycle of potions all over again and it was obvious that it would be difficult in Harry's weakened state. He examined the wounds noticing that the bleeding had slowed, but his pallor told of his profound blood loss. Before another moment was wasted, he began the chore of administering another series of vials. 

Harry knew exactly who it was that was tending him and he felt rather divided on the issue, as though there was something he couldn't quite recall. Perhaps it was that the professor's attitude seemed a bit different, unusual. He tried to focus, but without his spectacles the room was a swirling blur and his mind conjured images that he vaguely recalled from his dreams . . . '_How are you preparing to stand against the Dark Lord?_' the familiar voice had asked, standing dark and foreboding in front of him. '_Do you think he will take one look at the famous Harry Potter and simply fall down dead at your feet?_' Snape's voice, the words echoed so clearly in his memory they almost seemed to have been spoken . . . almost.

'_Perhaps Dumbledore is right after all. You aren't your father . . ._' Harry knew those words, they weren't real . . . just a dream . . . 

"Just a dream . . ." he murmured aloud, unaware he spoke until Snape answered. 

"I assure you Potter, this is no dream," Snape answered, but Harry remembered the dream and knew the tentative peace they had forged would never be real.

***

It was some time before the bleeding had stopped and Harry was stable enough to leave alone while Professor Snape made a call to the Order. All sense of time had been lost in the commotion and now Professor Snape was sure it was well past time for him to speak with Dumbledore. 

"If you are sure you're all through dying, I must go speak with the Headmaster." Snape spoke harshly while staring at where Harry was tucked in the hospital bed, as though awaiting some argument that never came. He considered giving Harry a dose of Dreamless Sleep to ensure he would remain safe until his return, but the lack of reaction to his last jibe coupled with deep steady breaths reminded him that Potter's own exhaustion should ensure he wouldn't wander. 

He left the hospital wing knowing it was well past time to inform the Headmaster of Potter's reappearance.

***

When the fire flared in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and his head appeared in the grate, it was Molly Weasley who greeted with a smile he rarely saw directed at himself. He was bombarded with a slew of questions which he ignored instead ordering that she fetch Dumbledore. Her eyes flashed coldly but she left as ordered in search of the Headmaster. 

"Severus, are you all right? We've been most worried about you," Dumbledore said as he entered the room.

The Potions Master opened his mouth to speak but was immediately interrupted as the Headmaster spoke again.

"Dementors attacked Hogsmeade this morning. When you hadn't contacted us, we feared the worst."

That statement caught Snape off guard. The dementors had been ordered to search for Potter and Hogwarts is about the last place he would have imagined the boy to be. Was there something that caused them to search this far from the boy's home or was it mere coincidence? The headmaster continued despite the Potions Master's wandering thoughts.

"They have reported two villagers received the kiss before they could call the Ministry for help."

That boy has more luck than brains, Snape thought. 

"No one could remember seeing you in town this morning – were you able to get the supplies you needed? Have you confirmed the source of the blood?" Dumbledore asked looking most anxious.

"I was unaware of the dementors in Hogsmeade, and did not venture to town this morning . . ."

"Severus that information is very urgent," Dumbledore interrupted. "We have a precious few clues and every moment we delay is putting Harry in greater danger."

"If you will give me a moment to explain Albus," he interjected impatiently. The professor was becoming irritated after being repeatedly interrupted when he had such important information to convey. "I have done better than confirm the source of the blood, I have located it, although precious little remains . . ."

The Headmaster stared in disbelief. "Severus?" he asked hoping it was enough to express his question.

"Yes Albus, it seems Mr. Potter has made his way to Hogwarts."

The Headmaster breathed a deep sigh of relief, pushing aside the memory of nightmares that had been plaguing him since Harry first disappeared. "How is he? Is he awake?"

"It has taken me many hours and nearly Poppy's entire stock of potions but I do believe he is going to live. He was resting when I left him to speak with you."

"Step aside, Severus. I am coming through."

Professor Snape disappeared from the grate and awaited the Headmaster's arrival. He was displeased with Dumbledore's attitude toward him, but brushed it off knowing how worried the old wizard has been.

The kitchen in Grimmauld Place stirred with life as everyone had started to gather in search of news. Dumbledore held up one hand to silence them and then spoke. "Harry has been found alive . . ."

His voice was lost amid the whoops of joy and he held up his hand to silence them again so he could continue. "He has been injured but I don't yet know the severity of his wounds. I am going now to see him. We will wait to inform the Ministry and the press until after my return."

The room was abuzz with voices, all clamoring to be allowed to see Harry, Molly Weasley's being among the loudest. The Headmaster requested silence once more and hoped to explain himself without adding too much to their worries. "I do not yet know the severity of Harry's condition and cannot in good conscience allow all of you to see him until more is known. Remus, would you care to join me?" Surprisingly there were no arguments from the other occupants of the room.

All weariness and worry left Remus at that moment and he rushed to the Headmaster's side. He had been so worried about Harry even before the attack, and he was eager to see him again.

When they stepped through into the Headmaster's office Snape sneered at Remus before he began filling them both in with what little information he'd managed to glean from his patient. 

When they reached the corridor to the Hospital wing, Remus noticed the trail of drying blood that led down the hall and through the double doors. Realizing what had drawn Remus' attention Snape decided to explain, "As I told you before, he was bleeding quite heavily when I found him." 

His companions nodded grimly, unconsciously quickening their pace toward the doors. When the doors opened their eyes were drawn to the small form lying in the nearest bed. Professor Snape had left Harry tucked in the same bed where he had tended his wounds, the sheets were stained with his blood and the sight startled a gasp out of Remus.

Harry was still asleep unaware of his audience. They gazed at his pale face and examined his body looking for clues to the source of the damage. Remus pulled the blanket away from where it was tucked carefully beneath Harry's chin exposing a ring of bruises encircling his neck. Their eyes followed the trail of bruises as far as could be seen till they once again disappeared under the covers. He glanced over at Albus. "How do you suppose he got these?" he asked.

"Perhaps we can ask," the Headmaster replied calmly as he watched Harry's eyes flutter open. "Welcome back my dear boy," he said softly, as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

The room was not near so bright as he remembered it from his past visits, but even in the blur without his glasses he recognized the hospital wing. "Mmmade it," he slurred sleepily.

"Yes Harry, you're safe now," Remus encouraged and placed Harry's newly repaired spectacles on his nose. 

His eyes first focused on the Headmaster widening in disbelief. "You you're nnnot dead?" he said uncertainly. His mind was flooded with memories of their meeting in Dumbledore's office after Sirius' death. He remembered the pain and anger, but now all he could feel was relief.

"Of course not Harry – and neither are you," he added. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Harry swallowed thickly and shook his head. He lacked the energy to explain his earlier line of reasoning. He was safe and he was home, at that very moment nothing else really mattered.

***

_tbc_ . . .

~_ Whomping Willow_ ~


	9. Overdue Conversations

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow _~

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

***

Chapter nine: Overdue Conversations ~

  


Candlelight filtered out through the windows of the hospital wing in the early morning at Hogwarts. The castle's grounds were bathed in grey mist, quiet as its occupants. The hustle and bustle of the previous night had finally died down long after dark when they were confident that Harry would survive the night. Even after they had parted for their quarters little sleep was to be had, as fatigued minds mulled over what little information had been gleaned from the injured runaway. 

Of the castle's sleeping occupants, Harry was the first to stir.

A delightful smell taunted him from his slumber. Harry was almost sure he could smell porridge. If it was a dream he wanted it to last as long as possible, but if it wasn't he shouldn't be wasting time while his stomach growled. Harry opened his eyes and was greeted by the far too familiar sight, even without his specs he recognized Hogwarts' hospital wing. He had likely spent more time in the hospital than any other student in Hogwarts' history, and for once Harry had no intention of complaining. 

For the first time in days he was warm and dry, there was even the promise of food lingering in the air. Groping blindly, he found his spectacles on the bedside table. He was almost as stunned by the general lack of pain when he moved as he was by his surroundings. The room was uncharacteristically dim, perhaps due to the early morning hour, and Remus Lupin had pulled up a chair close to his bedside, where he was now gently snoring. He didn't appear to be comfortable, slouching in the chair with his head bent forward and chin resting on his chest.

Harry vaguely remembered seeing him sometime earlier, but could remember little of their conversation. Shifting about, he could just see the table that held what looked suspiciously like the source of the aroma that had been driving his stomach to distraction. Did house-elves stay at Hogwarts in the summer, he wondered? Harry peeled back the covers as he sat up slowly and slid his legs off the edge of the bed. The mattress gave a groan of protest which woke Remus from his slumber. 

"Harry . . ." he said straightening in his seat and looking immediately alert. His next words were far louder causing Harry to wince slightly. "Poppy, he's awake!"

Harry was instantly confused. What was Madam Pomfrey doing at Hogwarts during the summer? Beckoned by Remus, Madam Pomfrey came bustling around the corner clucking at him for attempting to rise. "Young man, you should know better than to get out of bed . . ."

He looked to Remus for help in relaxing the anxious mediwitch but he appeared as concerned as she did. It wasn't till Harry was propped with pillows and tucked in that the reproving looks diminished. 

"How are you feeling Harry? You gave us all an awful scare you know," Pomfrey said as she rechecked his healing wounds.

Harry swallowed thickly and Remus handed him a glass of water. After a few sips, the cool water soothed his irritated throat so he could speak. "M'fine, just a bit hungry." He cast a sideways glance at the table once more. 

"Good to hear you have an appetite, and I'll let you eat as soon as I'm through here." 

Before Poppy started in again, Remus smiled genuinely at Harry. He was glad to see he had improved overnight. "It's good to see you feeling so much better than yesterday. You've had us all worried about you." Harry winced, but Remus continued undeterred. "You were so weak you passed out before we could find out what happened. The last intelligible thing you said was something about Dumbledore being alive."

"You've been here all night?" Harry asked through his first mouthful of porridge. The porridge was hot and just as delicious as it smelled. 

Remus nodded before looking away, and Harry noticed he looked older than he had at King's Cross before summer holiday. The voice that broke the silence was quiet and perhaps a bit unsteady. "I couldn't risk losing you again." When Remus looked up Harry understood, like himself, Remus had lost so much . . . with little else to cling to, his disappearance must have been nearly intolerable.

"The Headmaster will be back to speak with you shortly. He's been terribly worried." Remus watched Harry closely for a reaction. He knew about the row that Harry and the Headmaster had before the summer and was afraid Harry might still hold a grudge, but if he did, there was no sign of it in his reaction.

Harry pondered over his porridge for several minutes before he spoke. "It is stupid now that I can think clearly . . . just because the wards fell didn't mean that Professor Dumbledore was dead, but then how did Voldemort get through them?"

"That I believe, is a better question for Dumbledore," Remus said as the Headmaster entered the room with Snape following one step behind.

Harry glanced at the Headmaster over his breakfast. He pushed it aside, hunger sated and more eager to get the answers to his questions. Professor Dumbledore wore a smile that was almost as vibrant as his violet robes, as he greeted Harry.

"Good morning Harry. I trust you are feeling a bit better today?"

"Yes sir," he replied. "How is everyone? Ron must be awfully mad about the note . . ."

"Everyone is fine Harry, and they understand you did what you needed to protect yourself. Now I am quite eager to hear your account of what happened."

Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts before starting. "Well, Death Eaters attacked Privet Drive. I waited till I could escape with my broom under my dad's cloak. I flew till I got hurt when I hit the trees. I was bit by grindylows and flew by thestral the rest."

Three faces all held the same expression, looking at each other in confusion before Professor Snape voiced the reason for their shared expressions. "Mr. Potter, could you elaborate? We would greatly appreciate a . . . slightly less abbreviated version, if you please."

"I just thought . . ." Harry started.

"I highly doubt that," the Potions Master sneered.

"Severus, please . . . now is hardly the time," Dumbledore scolded.

"What would you like to know?" Harry asked.

Professor Snape fired off questions before anyone else had the chance. "How is it you had enough warning before the attack to hide yourself? Why did you not seek assistance from Arabella Figg? Or barring that, fly to the Leaky Cauldron or Grimmauld Place instead of foolishly attempting to fly all the way to Hogwarts?" 

Dumbledore shot the Potions Master a warning look before he turned to Harry awaiting his answers. Harry's mouth went dry as his mind raced over the events of the last few days. 

"I really didn't have any warning – no visions or anything at least. I was getting something out from the cupboard under the stairs when I heard someone at the front door. I knew the Dursleys' weren't supposed to be home for at least an hour so I ducked into the cupboard and closed the door behind me to wait and see who it was." It was close enough to the truth that Harry thought he could get away with a little lie.

At this point Snape interrupted, "It could have simply been your family returning early, or do you make it a habit to hide from your relatives in cupboards?"

Harry paled, but Remus saved him from Snape's question. "It wasn't his family Severus, and Harry's good instincts saved his life." Snape sneered at Remus, but said no more. Remus didn't know why Snape was being so cruel to Harry, but Dumbledore suspected there was a motive behind his question. 

Harry sent Remus a thankful smile and started to speak again. "I knew it was Voldemort when my scar started to burn. I wrapped up in my dad's cloak and waited, hoping they wouldn't find me. When a shout from upstairs distracted the Death Eaters, I grabbed my broom and ran out the front door."

Harry paused for a few sips of water. "I could hear them chasing me for a long time. It was hard to keep fully covered while running and they sent curses in my direction, but never close enough to hit me. It was almost like they wanted me to get away."

Snape opened his mouth to interrupt again, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

"By the time I was fairly sure I had lost them I was a long way from Mrs. Figg's. It was too early to fly. I didn't want to risk being seen and I didn't have any money for the Knight Bus. I wouldn't have risked going there anyway, being a squib she could hardly protect us if I was still being followed."

"You didn't consider the fact that she may not have been alone or that she could contact the Order?" Snape looked rather pleased with himself.

"Severus, you are not to mock Harry's decisions. He was unaware of the level of contact Arabella has with the Order and was trying to protect her." The Headmaster once again felt guilty for the part he played in keeping Harry ignorant of the measures in place to keep him safe. That ignorance left him unaware of the many options that were open to him, but one option that Harry was aware of had been blatantly ignored and Dumbledore was curious as to why. "Why didn't you fly to Grimmauld Place?" 

Harry looked up to the Headmaster a bit surprised that the clever old wizard hadn't figured it out without asking. "I figured it was a trap . . . I escaped too easily. The Death Eaters must have let me go in order to follow me to Order headquarters."

"I can assure you Mr. Potter – we were under strict orders _not _to allow you to escape."

Harry's eyes widened, "You were there?" 

"Yes, I was granted the dubious honor. We were all severely punished for your escape," Snape said wincing slightly at the memory.

It took a moment for Harry to digest the new information. When he did, he decided to ask a question of his own. "How did Voldemort breech the wards?"

Dumbledore looked sad despite his flamboyant outfit. "Harry – the wards around Privet Drive were weakened. We believe that Peter Pettigrew spent some time prior to the attack testing their strength for Voldemort. He found they could be breeched in the Dursleys absence . . ."

This time it was Harry who held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Thank you. I suspected as much." Harry was afraid the Headmaster was going to explain about the Dursleys' murders and despite their animosity he wasn't prepared to hear about it yet.

Remus was stunned by the way Harry had stopped Dumbledore from continuing. He had never known Harry to be rude, but the Headmaster dismissed the discourtesy knowing the subject of the Dursleys to be a sensitive one. Instead he encouraged Harry to continue his account of his escape.

"Ron had said in his letters that his family had all moved to headquarters, so I knew the Burrow was out of the question. I figured the Leaky Cauldron would be the next safest bet, but when I got there it was surrounded by dementors. So I decided that I could floo to headquarters from Hogsmeade."

"You were in Hogsmeade?" Remus and Dumbledore asked at once.

"No, I never made it. I crashed my broom when I dipped low into the trees." Harry blushed, embarrassed by the memory. 

"That's how you damaged your arm? You looked more like you had been worked over by Macnair." Snape stated, as his mind mulled over the fact that Harry's destination had been Hogsmeade.

"Yes it broke in the crash. After I woke up, I walked north till it was dark and safe to fly again. I was very thirsty, so when I spotted a pond I landed. That's where the Grindylows took me by surprise, but I fought them off without magic. I guess I passed out again, cause I remember waking up with a thestral looming over me. It let me get on its back so I told it to take me to Hogsmeade, but I ended up here."

"Smart thestral," Remus mused aloud. "What happened to your broom? We didn't find it near the doors?"

"I dropped it somewhere along the way," Harry said sadly then added, "where are my wand and cloak?"

"I have them," the Headmaster assured. "The house-elves are cleaning your cloak. It was not much use to you in its present state. We'll have to see about your broom later."

Finally Harry thought about Remus' last statement. "Why did you say 'smart thestral'?" he asked. "What is wrong with going to Hogsmeade?" 

Dumbledore answered sadly, "Hogsmeade was attacked by dementors early yesterday morning."

Harry was starting to wonder how many lucky stars he had, because he had some thanking to do.

"Are you okay Harry?" Remus asked. He was a bit worried. Harry had been through quite an ordeal.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit overwhelmed by it all."

"Perhaps you should get some rest. I have it on good authority that Miss Granger and the Weasleys are all anxiously awaiting Madam Pomfrey's permission to visit."

Harry smiled at the Headmaster and promised to get some rest. Professor Snape followed the Headmaster out as Madam Pomfrey approached to check on her only patient. She was worried that he seemed to recovering slower than expected, but assumed it had to do with the difficulties they'd had in judging his potion dosage. His bones mended without issue, but he was recovering the lost blood slowly. She advised him to remain in bed to prevent dizzy spells and promised she would permit visitors soon.

Once they were alone, Remus took Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze. It was meant to be reassuring but Harry bit his lip and stared at their hands with an oddly emotional look in his eye. Remus opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but snapped it shut when Harry began to speak.

"I'm so sorry . . . about Sirius. I know this must be hard for you . . ."

"Harry, like I told you before summer, I don't blame you. Hungarian Horntails couldn't have kept Sirius away when you were in trouble and I don't blame him a bit. You were everything to him . . ." they both wore matching reflective expressions. "He would be so proud of you right now, the way you made it here . . . we're all grateful to have you back."

Harry was not entirely convinced, but nodded anyway, he didn't want Remus worrying about him needlessly. He had come a far way toward forgiving himself for his godfather's death but he certainly hadn't expected Remus to forgive him so quickly. He was not going to wallow in self-pity . . . 

"I'm going to have to face him," Harry said abruptly breaking the silence. "Voldemort – I will have to face him sometime . . . I can't just go on being lucky."

Remus smiled a grim sort of smile. "You have been very lucky so far, not just any wizard could face Voldemort in their first-year and live to tell about it, but you are right you cannot depend on luck. You are a powerful wizard, and steps are being taken to assure you will receive more appropriate defense training than last year."

"Are you coming back to teach?" Harry pleaded. "You are the best teacher we ever had . . . I know that isn't saying much, but I mean you are a great teacher."

Remus smiled genuinely this time at the praise, but shook his head. "No Harry. The governors and parents are no more prepared to have a werewolf teach now that Voldemort has returned than they were before . . . and before you ask, no, I don't know who it is the Headmaster has lined up for this year. He has been rather tight-lipped about the matter."

Harry nodded sadly. He knew the Ministry was too prejudiced to allow Remus to come back and teach, but he had hoped that those opinions would change with their acceptance of Voldemort's return. His eyes fluttered shut as his face contorted in a huge yawn.

Laughing, Remus suggested Harry rest as Dumbledore had suggested. It took only a moment for Harry to comply, drifting into a lazy dream.

***

Remus Lupin entered the Headmaster's office pleased to see the two men looked only slightly more rested than himself. Snape was not sitting rigidly in the chair as usual, instead he opted for a most uncharacteristic slouch as he peered into his cup seeming to ignore his arrival. Remus joined them for a steaming cup of tea as they enquired as to Harry's state of mind. 

"I believe he is coping admirably with losing Sirius." His voice faltered only slightly as he said his departed friends' name. After taking a sip and relishing the soothing warmth, he continued. "He is concerned about his defense training. He wants to be prepared to face Voldemort when the time comes. Barely put back together again and he is already thinking of the next time . . ."

"And what did you tell him, Lupin?" Snape scowled.

"The truth – I don't know who is to be teaching Defense this term, but that Dumbledore is not going to allow another Umbridge to take the position. Have you found someone suitable for the position, Albus?"

"Indeed I have, but I am not at liberty to discuss the matter further at this time."

"Of course," Remus nodded. He understood the hiring process for the Defense position was becoming more and more complicated each year. It was rumored that Sibyll Trelawney had even offered her services to assist Dumbledore in choosing from the candidates, but that the Headmaster had politely declined.

"When Potter is strong enough to begin training, he should do so. The Dark Lord has not called since he punished those who participated in the raid . . . that in all likeliness means he is up to something . . . what – I do not know, but he should be monitored."

"I am glad to see you and I agree, Severus. I would like to start with resuming his Occlumency training, and I will need your help."

Snape glared at Lupin and the Headmaster in turn, clenching and unclenching his jaw so tightly the sound of grinding teeth could be heard by all. 

"If I am not mistaken, Harry should take his studies much more seriously this time," Dumbledore assured.

Professor Snape responded with less than his usual decorum. "And what makes you think Potter will even permit me to instruct him again?"

Dumbledore ignored his tone and replied with a question of his own. "How many friends do you think Harry is willing to lose before he is compelled to learn Occlumency? It is my belief that he will be willing if it means the safety of those around him."

"I agree, Albus. Harry is not willing to risk those close to him . . . now that he is aware of the danger," Remus interjected. "Just look at how much trouble he went to in order to keep Voldemort from finding the Order headquarters."

"_If _I agree to this, it will be with your promise that Potter will conduct himself properly and you will be present for all lessons. Is that clear?"

The Headmaster's eyes lit up though his expression remained impassive. "I understand Severus and will ensure that Harry complies with your wishes."

"If he were to comply with my wishes he would not resume the lessons at all."

"I am afraid that is not an option."

"Very well, Albus. I will resume his lessons for the safety of us all, but if he steps out of line again he will not receive another chance."

"We can inform him when he awakes. It may be beneficial for Harry to have some time to get comfortable with the idea."

"No amount of time shall provide me comfort," the disgruntled Potions Master responded.

"Severus, I am beginning to believe you would have preferred it if Harry had in fact been a Polyjuiced imposter."

Snape knew Dumbledore was losing his patience and held his tongue.

"If we are about through here, I would like to go check on Harry."

"I believe we are finished for now Remus, but I believe you should get some rest. Severus and I will check on him. I'd like a quick word with him if he is awake."

Remus regretfully agreed and made his way to the guest room he had declined the previous evening. That left Snape and Dumbledore to see for themselves how Harry was holding up.

***

Harry tossed and turned fitfully on the small hospital bed. The sheets were tangling around him and his fringe was plastered to his sweaty forehead. His dreams had started off innocent enough but having drifted to sleep without his preliminary meditations his mind was accessible to Voldemort. For the first time since the incident at the Department of Mysteries Harry heard that unmistakable voice in his head. "You will not escape me . . . running will do you no good . . ."

Harry awoke and sat up abruptly. When the room came into focus, he scanned it quickly to ensure the voice hadn't come form a more tangible source. Once satisfied that he was alone, he wiped his brow on his sleeve and gulped the water he hadn't finished earlier. A lunch tray sat beside the glass and he filled his stomach as he pushed the haunting words from his mind.

When the tray was nearly empty, the double doors swung open. Dumbledore and Snape entered, apparently unnoticed by Madam Pomfrey. Harry was surprised that Remus wasn't with them. He had left sometime after Harry had fallen asleep and he assumed it was to speak with Dumbledore. The Headmaster must have guessed his unasked question. "Remus didn't get much sleep last night. I convinced him it would be best to take a nap while you did. Now, how are you feeling? It looks like you have your appetite back."

"I'm feeling fine. How long will I have to stay here?"

"That decision is entirely up to Madam Pomfrey, but you will be moved to Grimmauld Place with your friends as soon as she feels you are well enough. You will not have to return to the Dursleys' care."

"You mean they're alive?"

"Did you assume everyone dead, Mr. Potter?" 

Harry flushed. "But you said that the wards were weakened in the Dursleys' absence?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, weakened while they were not at home. I do not know exactly how Voldemort gained access to the house, but I know that the Dursleys are very much alive."

The look of immense relief on Harry's face caught both men off guard. They suspected that at least some of the bruises had been made before Harry fled the Dursley home and were not expecting that level of compassion toward the less than loving family.

"Voldemort destroyed the house and all your belongings I am afraid, but we will replace them as soon as you are well enough to be escorted to Diagon Alley."

"Will I go back there next summer?" Harry asked curiously.

"You will never return to the Dursleys' home," Dumbledore stated before asking, "Harry why did you lie to us in your letters about how the Dursleys treated you? The correspondence was intended to protect you as much as staying in their home was."

"My uncle read them before they were sent," he admitted sheepishly. "Besides, if I hadn't . . . glossed over a few facts . . . and someone showed up to threaten the Dursleys' I would have been unwelcome there and you said I needed their protection . . ." 

The room was silent as Harry's words trailed off uncontested.

Finally the Headmaster spoke. "Remus has informed me of your concerns and I can assure you that I have plans to aid your training. The Defense Professor this year will be more than adequate to make up for last year. Although I must say, your Defense club did prevent many students from falling behind, as well as making a remarkable impact on the O.W.L. scores."

Harry smiled briefly at that. Knowing he helped other students like Neville and Ron not only get better test scores but also defend their lives was a small boost, despite the fact that they wouldn't have needed to defend themselves if he hadn't led them into danger.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore continued. "When you are strong enough, I would like you to resume your Occlumency lessons." The Headmaster was prepared for an argument that never came.

Harry answered without pause. "Yes sir."

"I will be teaching you along with Professor Snape. I hope we can begin before the start of term."

Harry's eyes darted to the dour Professor and then back to the Headmaster. "Of course sir, whenever you think I am ready."

The Potions Master was expecting to see animosity lurking behind the green eyes that met his, but instead he saw reticent curiosity. He raised one eyebrow as an unspoken question, but Harry turned away leaving it unanswered.

"If you have no questions for me I will go and find Poppy. I need to ask when the Weasleys will be permitted a visit. Poor Molly has had to start locking away the floo powder to keep Ron and Hermione from sneaking in to see you." He chuckled and left.

Professor Snape however stayed. He stared at Harry for a full minute before speaking. "Are you prepared to commit yourself to the study of Occlumency this time Potter? Or will I be treated to more pathetic attempts and excuses?"

"I will do my best," he said trying to forget the sound of Voldemort's voice whispering in his ear '_you will not escape me . . . running will do you no good . . ._'

"I certainly hope you will do better than last year, for your friends sake." 

His tone was not sarcastic, but Harry still felt it was far from sincere. 

"I am sorry you are stuck teaching me Occlumency again Professor, but at least you won't have to teach me Potions anymore."

A cold mockery of a smile crossed the Potions Master's face before he replied. "Yes Potter, I can assure you I will most definitely not be teaching you Potions this year."

Harry had seen the letter. He knew his Potions score, but having Snape confirm it was the final proof. Unless Professor McGonagall came up with something, his chances of becoming an Auror were lost.

"Good day Potter," Snape said as he exited the ward, smirking at his own private joke.

***

_tbc_ . . .

  
  
  


_~ Whomping Willow ~_


	10. Important Questions

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow_

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

***

Chapter ten: Important Questions ~ 

  


Severus Snape, Potions Master, stalked down the dim stone corridors of Hogwarts with his robes billowing behind. He had stalked these halls since he was a student himself and they had helped him process his thoughts whenever they became disjointed. Tonight was no exception. 

Harry Potter had once again taken him by surprise, readily accepting the Headmaster's proposal of renewing their Occlumency lessons. They both had anticipated an argument over the matter, perhaps even a thrown bedpan, but instead Potter had readily complied with the Headmaster's request without batting an eye. Potter couldn't have botched his plans any better if he had been forewarned. Snape had been counting on Potter's reluctance and eventual refusal in order to avoid another row with Dumbledore, but by accepting the lessons without argument he was now left with no other option but to teach the brat. It was as though Potter knew what he had planned and wanted Snape to suffer. If it weren't for the boy's miserable Divinations grade, he might suspect he was hiding some precognitive gift.

Whatever was going through Potter's feeble mind that made him comply, without argument for once, Snape considered it incredibly bad timing. The boy had been acting peculiarly since he had arrived at Hogwarts and despite the proof that it was indeed Potter and not an imposter, the Potions Master was curious about the origin of the change. Couldn't he just be predictable for once . . . ?

Snape did have one consolation . . . the look on Potter's face when he confirmed that he would not be teaching him Potions this year was priceless. The look of resignation, with a touch of despair . . . he hoped it would be a while before the news broke of his new position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Yes, after far too many years of patience, the Headmaster had finally relented and convinced the Ministry, receiving approval for Snape to take the position as DADA Professor. There were of course stipulations to be followed, but most of them had little or nothing to do with the professor himself. 

He would finally have his chance to prove himself to those who had doubted him, and whatever professor takes over teaching potions can take with it the responsibility of restocking Poppy's potions stores, as well as protecting the likes of Longbottom from their own stupidity.

Perhaps a review of grindylows would be appropriate for the sixth-years . . . if he couldn't mock Potter's disgraceful attempts at potions brewing at least he could recount his pathetic escape from the grindylows for those unfortunate enough to be lacking the details. That would be enough to keep him from the pedestal his peers so gladly place him upon and down closer to the gutter in which he belonged. 

Perhaps another year of Occlumency lessons with Potter wouldn't be so bad after all . . .

***

The next morning Harry was feeling even more refreshed. Madam Pomfrey had allowed him to take a real bath, which was delightful after the 'less than refreshing' cleansing charms. There was just something about a hot bath that no mere charm could replace. That also allowed Harry his first opportunity to see the extent of the damage that had been done. His eyes traveled from one half healed wound to another, suddenly understanding why the thestral had been drawn to him.

He didn't remember the blood . . . only the cold, the fear and the pain. 

When Harry stood up from the cooling bath water, his vision blurred and he staggered unsteadily on his feet. It was moments such as this that Harry was reminded that even with magic it still took time to heal serious wounds. His body was weak and his limbs felt heavy after the long soak.

He struggled through his bout of dizziness, into fresh pyjamas and finally the hospital bed. He savored the smell of clean sheets as he pulled them up under his chin. Feeling more relaxed than he'd felt all summer, sleep came easily.

Though it had been a few hours, it felt as though his eyes had just drifted shut when the clamor in the hallway announcing the arrival of the Weasleys woke him. They burst through the double doors noisily, and all but ran to Harry's side. It seemed the entire Weasley clan, except Percy, was gathered at his bedside. Hermione pushed her way to the front beside Ron. 

The noise died down as everyone got their first look at Harry, who yawned sleepily. His tired eyes warmed considerably when he smiled. He had thought about what he wanted to say to his friends, apologies for the bloody note, and all the halfhearted correspondences before that, but the words fled and all he could do was smile and hope they would understand.

"Harry dear, how are you feeling?" Molly Weasley started only to be interrupted by Ron. 

"How did you end up here?! You had us so bloody worried . . ."

"Ronald," Molly chided, both for the language and her son's scolding tone.

Turning back in time to witness Harry's wince, his own expression softened. "Sorry mate, but you had us so worried. Where were you? The Daily Prophet only said you fled for safety and are now in Dumbledore's care . . ."

The mention of the Prophet started Harry wondering just what the paper had been saying in his absence. Did they think he destroyed the house himself or that he had run off because he was in league with Voldemort? He wouldn't put it past Rita Skeeter to write that, or something equally scathing about him, despite the more flattering articles that had appeared after the incident at the Ministry.

The room filled with the voices of redheads again drawing his attention back to the present and the question Ron had asked. "I flew to the Cauldron first, but there were dementors there, so I changed plans and flew here. Sorry I couldn't invite you along," he added cheekily. 

Molly informed Ron in no uncertain terms that his punishment for flying to Hogwarts in his second-year would be nothing compared to what he would get if he were to repeat the dangerous deed. She was not about to see that flight become an annual event. Ron's older siblings however shared devious smiles. 

At some point Hermione had sat down on the edge of the bed and took Harry's hand, but when that happened he couldn't be sure. He was curious about her silence, knowing she would want to scold him along with Ron. When he looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears she was fighting not to spill. Finally she gave up the fight. She collapsed onto Harry's shoulder, body shaking with unrestrained sobs. She was murmuring about how they'd worried and feared the worst.

Harry froze at the contact. He braced for pain that didn't come, and finally managed to pat her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He found Ron's hand also busy at the task of calming their distraught friend. Looking at the faces surrounding his bed, Harry encountered many faces as grief-stricken as Hermione's.

"I was only gone for two days – I think. You didn't think I wasn't coming back, did you?" The looks that met him confirmed it; they had all feared the worst.

"Harry, the first reports said . . . they led us to believe . . ." Molly's tears choked off her words so Fred continued for her.

"Witnesses saw Death Eaters drag someone out of the house, and it was assumed that it had been you. It wasn't till we got your note that there was any real hope."

". . . and then Snape confirmed that you had escaped," finished George. 

By the time George had finished Hermione had collected herself, now sniffing and red-eyed. 

"As soon as Pomfrey gives the go-ahead, you'll be coming back to Grimmauld with us. We can give you your birthday presents."

Harry had forgot all about his birthday in the confusion. He was sixteen. No car, no proud father, so unlike his cousin . . . but what Harry did have were friends, a surrogate family of redheads and his life.

Madam Pomfrey saw Harry was looking a bit peaky and rounded up his visitors, promising they could return. For now she wanted Harry to get some rest. They left noisily, shouting their farewells over their shoulders as Pomfrey herded them out the doors.

She checked Harry over once again, seemingly unsatisfied with his rate of recovery, but thankfully she brought him lunch instead of more potions. When that was done, she tucked him in, making him feel both childish and safe. Harry drifted off to sleep still snickering over the mediwitch's mothering. 

His dreams started happily for once. Sirius was smiling, laughter spilling from his mouth and dancing in his eyes, and Harry joined him. It felt so good to laugh, despite the fact that he didn't know what they were laughing about. Sirius ruffled a hand through Harry's hair and pulled him closer in a half hug. "You remind me so much of your father. He'd be so proud . . ." Harry heard the words spoken with sincerity and warmth and wanted to believe them. In his heart he felt empty and undeserving of such praise. He wanted to speak, to ask what there was to fuel his father's pride, but his throat tightened. Sirius stepped back, fading from his view and Harry strode forward not yet ready to end the conversation. He was met with darkness and ambled aimlessly until he felt another sharing the emptiness.

"Sirius – Sirius," he called into the void, but got no response. "Sirius, please. I need you." Laughter rang in the darkness and Harry pursued it, seeking its source.

"Potter," a familiar voice echoed in the silence. The voice was harsh and sent a chill through his bones. "Little baby Potter still looking for forgiveness or is it vengeance you seek?" Bellatrix was emerging from the darkness and Harry scrambled to remember why he shouldn't be afraid.

"Have you learned your lesson? Do you understand the secrets to Cruciatus yet?" Harry let silence be his answer, which left his godfather's murderer in a nasty mood. "Let me instruct you . . . _Crucio!_" 

Fire lit in his veins and his mouth opened in a silent scream. He was shaking. The shadows murmured words unintelligibly as his pulse pounded in his ears. Harry could feel arms restraining him as the curse was lifted. Bellatrix's cackling laughter was silenced as she cast the curse again.

Harry's body went rigid, body arching off the floor. A sickening crack, and his newly mended clavicle snapped in two. Darkness approached. His mother's screams joined the pounding in his ears. The sightless eyes and gaping mouth of a dementor were mere inches away from his face, its acrid breath filling his nostrils as its presence stole the warmth from his very bones. His restrained arms were useless, unable to grasp his wand or prevent the smooth cold lips from touching his own.

His mouth filled with wetness and he vaguely sensed someone urging him not to fight it. The taste was bitter, but who would expect death to be sweet. Bellatrix was gone. No more laughter echoed in the darkness.

The wetness was choking him . . . he couldn't fight it any longer . . . he gave up and swallowed, accepting death, but death did not take him. He gasped for breath when the restraining hands shook him and his eyes finally saw the room before him.

Harry was in the hospital wing, as before, as always. His mother's screams were gone, although the pain had intensified.

Remus and Snape were on opposite sides of the bed clinging to his trembling arms while Madam Pomfrey was stretched awkwardly over his legs. In Snape's hand was an empty potions vial and Harry was sure its contents had tasted bitter, like death. 

"Harry?" Remus looked intently into weary green eyes, asking a hundred questions without saying anything more.

"M'okay." The bright light made his eyes tear, and he hoped the professors wouldn't think he was crying.

"I highly doubt that young man," said Pomfrey as she warily lifted herself off Harry's legs. She examined his condition carefully before leaving to fetch more potions. 

"I see now why you accepted the offer of Occlumency lessons. It appears that you are as available to the Dark Lord now as ever." Professor Snape had also released his grip on Harry, and his sneer was visible even before his vision cleared.

Harry cleared his throat. He was still shaken from his dream and was having difficulty interpreting the Headmaster's expression. "It wasn't a vision."

"How can you be so sure Mr. Potter? After all you have been tricked . . ."

Remus cut off the rest of that statement when his fist wrapped tightly in the front of Snape's black robe. He pulled Snape sharply toward himself until the Potions Master was teetering above Harry, balancing awkwardly on his toes. "Don't you dare finish that thought!"

From his vantage point, Harry could see that Snape's sallow complection was not improved by the skirmish. Remus rarely lost his carefully guarded composure, but when he did he was a force to be reckoned with. 

His fist tightened in the robe before releasing him with a hard shove that sent Snape sprawling gracelessly. Dumbledore watched the display in silence, hoping the two men would get it out of their systems without actual violence. 

"You will not mock Harry for his mistake. If we held you accountable for your mistakes Severus, you would be in Azkaban . . ." 

Snape's jaw clenched and he drew his wand. "Listen to me Werewolf . . ." 

"Enough!" One word from Dumbledore silenced them both, though their eyes still shot daggers in each others direction. It had become obvious that this would not be resolved without his interference. "We all make mistakes, and I hope that we learn from them. Now Harry, how do you know it wasn't a vision?" His eyes turned gentle as he gazed where Harry was nervously fiddling with his sheets.

"I was just me . . . Voldemort wasn't there . . . and my scar didn't burn. I just know . . ." He said before he drank the potions Madam Pomfrey had handed him, grimacing at the taste but relieved when the pain diminished.

"I believe you are correct. That doesn't sound like any of your previous visions." Dumbledore was still concerned by the intensity of the dream, but at least he didn't believe Harry was being careless. "Could you tell us about it?"

Harry didn't want to talk about the dream. They would see enough of his dreams and memories when Occlumency lessons started, but it was still difficult to refuse the Headmaster anything. "I was looking for Sirius, but found Bellatrix Lestrange instead. She held me under Cruciatus . . . and then there was a dementor . . . it was so close . . . I could feel its cold lips . . . smell its foul breath . . . taste death."

Remus could tell in those words that Harry was still blaming himself for his godfather's death. "I would assume that was Snape's . . . calming potion you tasted," he said shooting a smirk at Harry who understood the implication. 

Snape's scowl deepened.

"Poppy, can you tell what caused the seizures?" Despite the levity, Remus was concerned.

"Seizure?" Harry looked nervously at the mediwitch.

"There isn't any brain damage or anything else that might cause seizures." Poppy thought for a minute. "Harry did you eat anything while you were lost in the woods?"

Harry remembered how badly he wanted to eat the mushrooms, but he hadn't. "No, nothing."

"Perhaps something else you encountered . . ." 

"Are you suggesting_ that _was a reaction to something as simple as a glumbumble sting?" Snape looked incredulous.

"Nothing of the sort – I was thinking more along the lines of the flora. There are several mushrooms and even a moss that can cause similar reactions." Pomfrey was looking to Harry for a reaction. "What about your wounds . . . I know what caused the bites, but what of the scratches?"

"Thorns." There had been thorns on just about everything. Every vine had grabbed and torn at his flesh and clothing.

Poppy's eyes lit up. "What kind of thorns?"

"I don't know . . . sharp ones." Harry gave her a crooked smile.

"The fit, as well as the slow healing could certainly be a reaction to one of the thorns native to the Forbidden Forest and could very well exist outside it as well. We don't see a reaction like that very often. A large amount of the toxin must build up before symptoms get this severe. I'll check and see if I have the potion to fix you up."

A few minutes later Madam Pomfrey returned with a bright orange potion. "Now drink this down and get some rest."

Harry choked on the foul tasting liquid, his face scrunching in disgust. "Ugh . . . that tastes worse than death."

Remus and Dumbledore chuckled. 

"If you have no further need of me, I shall be in the dungeons." Snape sent one final glare in Remus' direction, turned on his heel and left.

"I don't want to rest . . ."

"There is nothing to fear Harry. You are safe here." Anxiety was etching lines on Harry's face.

"Safe? I'm safe _here_?" Harry's hands were tightening into fists. "How can you say that?"

Just days ago Voldemort had walked into the Dursleys' home, destroyed his things and demolished the house itself. Harry thought Dumbledore's claim of safety was a bit unfounded. "Like I was safe at Privet drive . . . like Sirius – like . . ." Harry's voice failed him as anger grew in the pit of his stomach. Like my parents were safe, never made it past his lips.

"Harry," Remus warned.

Harry found his voice again, ignoring the sudden twinge in his scar. "Are Ron and Hermione as safe as I was with the Dursleys?" His voice was shaking with emotion. "How do I know they are safe . . . how do I know I am safe? If it wasn't for that yell . . . they were so close . . . what would that have done to your Prophesy?"

"I did believe you were safe Harry otherwise I never would have made you return to the Dursleys, and as for Miss Granger, she is staying at Grimmauld Place with Ron and the rest of his family. They are as safe as I can provide."

Harry could feel his anger growing, but couldn't understand why. He could hear the Death Eater's hand as it grabbed the knob to his cupboard . . . as though he was still there. He could feel the curses flying past him as he ran invisible through the streets of Surrey. What was it Dumbledore knew that could have prevented it? He was sure there was something . . . "You had wizards watching me all summer, so why is it that at the first sign of danger I was alone?" 

The anger burned within him, reminding him of his meeting in Dumbledore's office. If Dumbledore answered him, Harry was unaware of it. Suddenly Harry didn't feel so alone and his scar burned. Somewhere in the darkness there was someone who understood rage. He reached up his hand to rub away the ache on his forehead and finally realized what was happening. Harry took several deep cleansing breaths, forcing his mind to clear. The anger faded almost as quickly as it had come. He once again knew, Voldemort was the one to blame for his pain and loss, and was alone.

". . . Harry!" The intensity in Remus' stare was matched by the concern in Dumbledore's. 

Harry bit his lip and blinked a few times. "Sorry, must be all the potions. Perhaps I do need to rest."

"Harry, are you all right? I think we lost you for a minute there."

The burning in his scar had faded completely. "I just got lost in my thoughts," Harry admitted.

A look in Dumbledore's eye said he wasn't quite convinced, but he said nothing.

"Would you mind if I stay with you? You gave me quite a scare." Remus rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, carefully avoiding the mending bones.

"That will be fine," he answered, sending Remus a lazy smile before closing his eyes. 

He heard the doors close as the Headmaster left. Harry slowed his breathing, feigning sleep while he thought. He had felt it . . . it had been real . . . but was it Voldemort's anger that welled up within him or was it his own . . . either way he had felt Voldemort encouraging him, enjoying the rising anger. Snape was right. He would have to learn to control his emotions . . . 

Harry cleared his mind and focused on each breath. Breathing meditations always seemed to calm him after dealing with his uncle and this was even more important. He could no longer feel the cold emptiness that had embraced him.

"I know you are awake." Remus' voice startled Harry into opening his eyes. "You can breathe as deep as you like, but I will know you aren't asleep as long as your heart is still racing like that."

"I wasn't trying to fool you . . . well okay maybe a bit. I just needed to think."

"You've been through a lot Harry and I won't patronize you by saying that I know how you feel . . . only you know your own mind . . . but you need to remember that we are trying to help you as best we can."

Harry nodded and winced when the movement jostled his shoulder. 

"Dumbledore tried to protect you and it backfired . . . but do you think you could have faced Voldemort in your fourth-year, knowing the Prophesy?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that. Could he honestly say that nothing would have been different if he had known the truth? Sirius would still be alive if he had known, but how many other things could have turned out worse? That was the thought that plagued his thoughts as he once again drifted off to sleep.

***

_tbc ._ . . 

~_Whomping Willow _~


	11. Not Quite Like a Home

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow_

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

Chapter eleven: Not Quite Like a Home

* * *

The remainder of Harry's stay in the hospital wing was far more tolerable than the first days had been. He only suffered one more difficult seizure before the potions finally purged the toxin from his weakened system, allowing him to resume the normal accelerated healing that he and Madam Pomfrey were accustomed to. The scrapes and bite-marks faded gradually, leaving only faint evidence of his painful flight to Hogwarts.

While his body healed, Harry's mind was preoccupied. The realm of possibilities seemed endless . . . what would have been different or could have been if he had known the truth . . . Harry was glad he didn't have access to a Timeturner, because the temptation would be almost too much to bear.

Remaining wary of the sensations in his scar, Harry diligently quieted his thoughts before he slept. He wasn't about to risk any further mockery from Snape or messages from Voldemort.

Visitors became a welcome distraction from his thoughts, especially Remus. The way Remus had stood up to Snape in his defense reassured Harry that his former professor truly didn't blame him for Sirius' death. Remus understood that Harry had been tricked while trying to protect those that he loved the same way that Sirius himself had been fooled while trying to protect Harry's parents. Despite their encouraging words arriving by owl daily, Harry had been concerned that his friends' families would blame him for the incident at the Ministry as well as the attack on his relatives, causing him to be ostracized once again when the school year began. Harry eventually figured if Remus was any indication of public opinion then he would be safe from scorn.

That theory was proven correct when Hermione dropped off an armload of newspapers, mostly back issues of the Daily Prophet from when he was "missing." It appeared that the public saw the attack on the Dursleys' home as retaliation for Harry having exposed Voldemort's return, to the public. He was never once accused, not even by Rita Skeeter.

Dumbledore had refused all requests for interviews with the Dursleys as well as Harry since his return, a fact to which Harry was infinitely grateful. The only thing Harry wanted to do less than recount the details of his escape for the press was to read the Dursleys' opinions on the events. Although he had been spared the public's scorn, didn't mean it would last.

Finally after many long days spent sleeping or immersed in his own thoughts the mixed blessing was upon him, the day that Harry would be released from Madam Pomfrey's care and sent to spend the remains of the summer at Grimmauld Place.

Before she would release her most frequent patient, Madam Pomfrey subjected Harry to a thorough check up as well as a stern talk that was more of a warning against engaging in any strenuous activities . . . such as battling Dark Lords or Death Eaters. Harry chuckled good-naturedly and promised he'd try to be good. Although Harry was happy to be leaving the hospital wing, he left little doubt that he was no happier to be heading to Grimmauld Place.

There was no packing to be done. All that remained of Harry's possessions could fit into the pocket of the jeans Mrs. Weasley had sent for the trip. Smiling, Harry bent down and rolled up the cuff of the jeans. Hand-me-downs were nothing new to Harry, and he was happy that Ron was at least closer to his size than Dudley ever was.

Madam Pomfrey smiled and gave Harry a brief hug before sending him on his way to meet with Dumbledore in his office.

Harry took his time, enjoying the way his borrowed oversized trainers broke the stillness of the otherwise silent corridors with a series of shuffling clomps. A few of the portraits eyed him curiously wondering what a student was doing in school during the summer while others greeted him kindly remembering the night they awoke to see his battered body being levitated past.

When Harry finally found himself standing before the gargoyle, he spoke the password and rode the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office. Although the door opened before he could knock, the Headmaster was nowhere in sight.

The portraits looked down upon him with obvious disapproval, whispering amongst themselves but not daring to address him directly. Harry's eyes shifted around the room and he flashed a quick smile to Fawkes who was preening quietly. He then looked from the floor to the desk, half expecting to see them littered with the broken remains of the magical gadgets he destroyed on his last visit, but the floor was clean. The desk, although buried in paperwork, was also mostly free of reminders of his last visit. One gadget however, bent and twisted in his rage, remained on display on the heavy wooden desk. One mangled piece of silver still attempted to spin, now making the entire object wobble and hum randomly. It held his eyes, in much the same way morbid curiosity lures eyes to stare at the scene of a car wreck. Was the Headmaster unable to fix that one, Harry wondered?

Dumbledore entered the office, unnoticed, and observed its other occupant. He had likewise been held transfixed by the twisted metal many times. It once was an object of magical oddity with a purpose that no longer mattered, it had been transformed and now held a much more vital purpose, for one man at least.

Dumbledore fixed a small smile on his face then cleared his throat to announce his presence. Harry started and cast his eyes to the ground away from the evidence of his guilt. He had felt so hurt and angry that day, blaming everyone but the guilty party. Despite the mistakes that they each had made, Harry now understood the guilty party to be Voldemort despite the Headmaster's claim of guilt. He could see that Dumbledore had been trying to protect him, just as Dobby had in his second-year, unfortunately with similar results.

Finally, Harry met the sad blue eyes, ignoring the whispering portraits. "I am sorry this office holds so many bad memories for you Harry. I had once hoped . . ." Dumbledore's words faded as the Headmaster seemed to become immersed in his thoughts.

Harry gazed at the Headmaster, realizing how much older he now looked. Perhaps it was his own growing maturity that caused Harry to realize for perhaps the first time that he and Remus weren't the only ones who had mourned. Sirius' death had affected Dumbledore and others as well. He was not alone in his grief, though he hadn't initially been able to perceive their feelings of loss.

Harry's eyes once again locked upon the twisted metal teetering near the edge of the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore followed his gaze and answered the unasked question. "I made a mistake . . . several in fact . . . that I dread repeating . . . I am leaving that particular object as is – as a reminder. The combination of age and wisdom do not make one infallible."

Throat constricting uncomfortably, Harry tried to swallow past the lump, but only managed to nod dumbly. Harry understood, although he didn't need any further reminder. Many of his mistakes had left their own reminders upon his flesh and in his heart . . . and on grave markers.

"However some mistakes cannot be avoided despite our efforts and warnings . . . I am sure Professor Snape has told you before that Occlumency is an obscure branch of magic . . . as such it is difficult to find one skilled enough to teach it, especially one who can be trusted enough to teach someone with secrets such as yours."

Harry swallowed nervously uncomfortable with where this conversation was leading. They had already discussed his lessons, and he had agreed to them . . . what else was there to discuss.

"I did look for someone else to instruct you despite what you may have thought . . . unfortunately the most skilled work for the Ministry or Voldemort. Your mind holds many secrets that we cannot risk falling into the wrong hands. Do you understand that is why I have asked Professor Snape to instruct you again? If there were any other way that wouldn't endanger your life I would choose it."

"You said that you couldn't teach me yourself . . . that it wasn't safe . . . but in the Hospital Wing you said you would both be teaching me . . ."

"I will merely be there as an observer, to ensure that Professor Snape is keeping his promise."

"His promise?" Harry was suddenly more alert.

"That is between Professor Snape and myself . . . now you'd best run along. Molly and the others have been eager for your return. We will visit after you have had a chance to settle in."

Harry nodded, no doubt in his mind about who the other half of "_we_" was. He would not be looking forward to their visit. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and cast it into the flames. By the time he arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place covered in soot his thoughts of Occlumency lessons had been replaced by more pleasant thoughts. He could hardly wait to see his friends again.

When Harry stumbled out of the fireplace it became obvious that everyone was happy to have him back. Mrs. Weasley was the first to greet him with a warm hug or three, but the rest weren't far behind. "Harry, it's so good to see you again, but you are still looking too thin. Didn't Poppy feed you? Well I'll have dinner on the table for you soon." After all the commotion died down, Ron and Hermione ushered Harry to his room. They were afraid the smell of cake would give away their plans.

Harry looked around as Ron and Hermione led the way. Harry could see that an effort had been made to make it feel more homey, but Grimmauld Place still bore the marks of the Dark Wizards in its past. Overall it represented a gloomy version of the home that circumstances had denied him all these years.

Ron and Hermione strode past the umbrella stand and started up the stairs without pause, Harry however stopped and stared at the vacant wall that once held the portrait of Sirius' mother. Realizing that they had lost Harry, they both turned and found him, eyes fixed upon the empty wall. "While you were missing . . . just before you were found Professor Lupin found a banishing spell strong enough to rid us of her once and for all. He wanted her gone in time for your arrival. Even threatened to take down the wall if necessary . . ."

Harry nodded with a grim smile. There would be no more shrieking about Blood-traitors or Mudbloods at all hours . . . no more creeping up the stairs on tiptoe. It was just one more reminder that Sirius wasn't there.

Harry followed his feet up the stairs, not really paying attention to anything else until he entered his room. It hadn't changed much, but he was pleased to find Hedwig waiting there for him. He greeted her warmly and she shifted from her perch onto his shoulder nipping at his ear obviously pleased to have him back. Ron and Hermione watched the reunion quietly before Hermione decided to break the silence. "You can borrow my books till you get a chance to visit Diagon Alley . . . so you don't have to save all your studies till the last minute."

"What you mean is till they can find someone to escort me . . ." Harry rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was his studies . . . the time he'd wasted this summer taking notes that no longer existed like the books themselves. He didn't have to say a word though, Ron obviously felt that was his duty. "Bloody Hell Hermione, don't you think Harry wants to think about something a little more interesting than his studies? I think he's earned a bit of fun . . . how's about a game of Chess or Exploding Snap?"

"Harry needs to focus on his studies if he is going to be an Auror," Hermione scolded.

"I'm not – I didn't make the grade in Potions . . . I'll have to figure out something else to do with my life."

"But that's not possible . . . I mean, if I made it in how could you not? After all I only got an _E_." Ron was looking at Harry curiously.

"An _E_?" Harry balked, "but Snape doesn't allow anything less than an O into his N.E.W.T.'s class?"

"I dunno Harry, but our equipment lists have a new Potions text on it. Of course I haven't made up my mind whether I want to take Potions this year or not . . . just cause I made it in doesn't mean I have to accept. Think about it . . . another two years of class with that greasy git."

Ron making it into Snape's N.E.W.T.S. level Potions class with an _E_ didn't make any sense. Harry was suddenly eager to see his list. "Do you have my Hogwarts letter as well?"

"Of course . . . Mum is keeping it for you. I'm sure she'll give it to you at dinner." Harry nodded and then smiled brightly as a thought struck him. "Congratulations of being chosen as Prefects again."

"How did you know?" Ron was curious how his friend had found out, considering he hadn't expected a second year in the position.

"How could anyone follow you?" Harry teased.

"We all figured Dumbledore would give you a turn this year Harry." Ron looked to Hermione for confirmation and received it.

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore knows I don't have the time to take on any more responsibilities this year."

"You will be allowed to play Quidditch again this year, won't you? They can't keep you banned . . ."

"I don't know. Dumbledore hasn't mentioned it. There is also the matter of my broom. It hasn't been found. I'm afraid it may be lost for good."

"Don't worry Harry . . . I'm sure Hagrid will find Grawp picking his teeth with it or something."

They laughed at Ron's attempt to lighten the mood and Harry was happy to have his friends there with him as he suddenly realized the ache in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with being back in that eerie old house. All his memories seemed to link back to Sirius. Harry knew that staying here was going to be even harder than he'd thought.

Although the rooms had been cleaned and in many cases fumigated, somehow it still didn't feel right. He knew his Godfather's house would never be comfortable the way the Burrow was. There had been worse than ghouls inhabiting these walls and Harry was even more aware of them in their absence. The empty frame for instance . . . Phineas Nigellus normally inhabited it and was now conspicuously absent. Had Dumbledore ordered him to leave Harry in peace remaining instead framed in the Headmaster's office, or was he waiting for Harry to drop his guard?

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and was comforted by the feel of his wand in his pocket. Ron saw his brief smile and decided it was time to ask again, "Exploding Snap?"

Ron beat Harry twice before Harry managed to win one. It was getting almost as embarrassing as chess, but it gave them a chance to relax and talk about what everyone else had been up to, during the summer. Ron admitted to having headaches and a few odd dreams as a result of the brain encounter, which had gained him some extra pampering from his mum so he certainly wasn't about to make a fuss. A week of all his favorite deserts was a fine way to recover from his brief encounter with the brains.

Hermione had instead suffered from several long lectures encouraging her to _think for herself and not follow along with the crowd just because everyone else was doing it. _She giggled and admitted it sounded rather a lot like the lecture her parents had given her on the birds and the bees the year before. That led them to speculate about how Neville's grandmother handled the fact that he had played a part in the break-in at the Ministry. It was hard to guess if she would be more worried or proud, after all she had lost her son and daughter-in-law to Voldemort and Harry guessed she must know something about the Prophesy although he didn't mention that detail to the others. He would have to tell them about it but he wasn't ready yet.

Ginny knocked excitedly on the door and poked her head in. "Dinner's ready, best not leave mum waiting." She turned and quickly fled down the stairs without waiting for a response.

They made their way down the stairs giggling and teasing Hermione about _the talk _without fear of waking Sirius' mother's portrait now that it no longer stood guard. Its absence made the place slightly less oppressive despite the storm clouds that were rushing dusk. Ron paused at the kitchen door waiting for Harry to catch up. When they were all assembled Ron pushed open the door and they were bathed in the bright light of the kitchen. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light it was obvious that Mrs. Weasley wasn't the only one waiting for them. The table was ringed with smiling Weasleys and a few members of the Order. Tonks greeted him warmly, looking far better than when she was released from St. Mungo's and Remus motioned Harry to sit next to him. He gladly complied. It was like a warmup for the welcoming feast at Hogwarts; the table was overflowing with food and surrounded by Harry's friends.

Harry picked at the food mounded high on his plate and struggled to keep his mind from wandering to those who couldn't be with them, as it was meant to be a joyous occasion. Not comfortable being the center of attention, he struggled to divert the focus away from himself. He shifted the room's attention instead to the twins and was grateful to Fred and George for being so obliging. Harry needed only bring up the subject of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and inquire about their latest research to set their mother onto a tizzy. It seemed that experimentation hadn't been entirely limited to their shop, even leaving their products lying around for the unwary. Fred gave Harry a quick wink and he smiled wondering if Fred knew how grateful he was to be out of the spotlight.

Unfortunately it didn't last. The lights dimmed and a cake appeared lit by 16 candles. Harry extinguished the candles quickly and was relieved when no one asked about his wish. Harry was handed a knife. He felt awkward and tried to coax Remus into doing the honors but the others insisted it was tradition. It seemed that all present believed that crooked slices of cake would be even more delicious.

One by one, brightly wrapped gifts were passed down the table to Harry who shifted nervously in his seat. He looked uncomfortable until he was distracted by the antics of the pictures on the decorative wrapping.

He was thankful that the gifts were mostly practical things, such as quills and a new school trunk. Now that he knew his things had been destroyed by Voldemort he was anxious to replace them. He didn't think he could bear to give up hope of finding his old broom yet so that one item would likely wait as long as possible. Suddenly noticing Ron poking him in the side, he turned to ask what was wrong. "I left your present in our room. I'll give it to you later." This made Harry suspicious but since Ron hadn't whispered he assumed it couldn't be anything too bad. At least he hoped it wasn't.

After the cake had disappeared and all the guests were thanked, Harry made his way upstairs followed by Ron and Hermione soon after. Ron was eager and nervous in equal measures about giving Harry his present. He had thought long and hard about his gift this year. He had known Hermione was going to get Harry a book like she did every year and the twins would give him more samples from the store. He wanted to get him something better than Chocolate Frogs, something to help him cope with his time at the Dursleys. Now that Harry was not going to be returning to the Muggles again, Ron worried his gift would seem too sentimental.

Before Harry disappeared, Ron and Ginny went to Diagon Alley with their mum. He had wandered from shop to shop looking for something different, with Ginny helping when she wasn't distracted by an attractive shop clerk. What he eventually found was an object rather similar to a Rememberall with a distinct difference, instead of reminding you that there was something you had forgotten, it would show the bearer the happy times they didn't want to forget. It worked vaguely on the same principal as a Pensive, but instead of filling it with your memories it would seek out the ones dearest to you, and display them on its smooth surface.

It had been rather more than he wanted to spend having worked at his brothers' shop in order to make a few galleons, but Ginny had seen the item that had caught her brother's eye and immediately added her savings to his. At the time it seemed like the perfect gift for Harry who was still mourning and sequestered far from his friends.

Ron asked Ginny to join them and then turned his back to his guests while digging to find the gift he had hidden before Harry had arrived earlier. Ginny shifted nervously near the door and Harry wondered just what the two redheads were up to. He glanced at Hermione but she just shrugged. Whatever it was Ron had managed to keep it secret from her as well. A faint rustle of paper later and Ron was standing awkwardly in front of his friend with the small gift. "It's from both of us . . . Ginny and I."

Harry couldn't fathom why Ron was acting all nervous, but he guessed the answer lay under a thin layer of brown wrapping. He could feel their eyes upon him as the paper fell away and the small object was revealed. Ron worried as the emotions began to play across Harry's face.

Harry was startled . . . the smooth glass sphere reminded him immediately of the orb from the Ministry of Magic that had shattered at his feet . . . that quietly spoke his destiny unheard as the fight went on, but as images began forming on the surface Harry knew it was different. A relieved sigh escaped him when he realized it definitely wasn't another Prophesy. Lost in the images, Harry smiled unguarded and his eyes misted over. When he looked up at his friends, they were smiling back at him suddenly looking less nervous. "You like it then?" Ron asked, looking like he wanted to say more.

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded as he struggled to find his voice. Hermione decided to offer a distraction. "May I see it, Harry? I've never seen a memory sphere before . . ."

Harry handed it over without argument but looked sad as it slipped out of his grasp and into hers. The smile that lit Hermione's face was fair compensation. When she finally looked away from the object cradled in her palm, she looked right at Ron. "It looks like your tastes are improving. You won't be getting away with giving Chocolate Frogs anymore I think," she teased.

Ron groaned, "What have I done?" And the room filled with laughter that warmed their hearts. Perhaps Hermione thought Ron possessed the emotional depth of a teaspoon, but Harry now held proof that his friend was growing up.

Later after the room had gone quiet and they were tucked safely in their beds Harry mused that losing nearly everything he had was perhaps not so bad as everyone thought . . . after all now everything that he possessed was as precious as those that they had come from.

Ron's sleepy voice startled Harry out of his musings. "It's good to have you back mate."

* * *

Harry bolted upright in his bed trying to figure out what had awakened him so abruptly. His scar didn't hurt and Ron was sleeping soundly in his bed across the room. The house was quiet. Listening carefully for any sign of what disturbed him Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the room lit up, a loud clap of thunder braking the silence. A few calming breaths later, Harry noted Ron was still sleeping and was grateful his friend wasn't awake to tease him for being a baby over a little storm. He supposed his own frazzled nerves were to blame for not sleeping through as well. He felt unworthy of Gryffindor getting jumpy over a little storm.

He settled back on his pillow. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to fall back to sleep, but figured it was worth a try. The wind howled and rain began to tap lightly on the window panes. The storm was soothing, until lightning cut across the sky illuminating the room followed shortly by the echoing thunder, startling Harry from the illusion of sleep. Harry didn't know how long he drifted between sleepless thought and wakeful dreaming, but he knew the moment that another sound besides the storm startled him to full consciousness. A voice in the hall . . . Harry knew it was late and wondered who it could be. Curiosity getting the better of him Harry eased himself quietly out of bed and approached the door, being careful to avoid the squeaky boards.

He listened a moment trying to identify the voice, but it had faded behind the ruckus caused as the wind rattled the old window. His hand stretched out toward the doorknob, but pulled back sharply when the room lit up again. The low rumbles of thunder followed making Harry feel incredibly childish. The knob felt cool against his palm, but the voice returned before he had a chance to turn it.

". . . Nasty ungrateful swine finally dead . . . scum replaced by more blood traitors and scum . . . what would Mistress say . . ."

Harry's heart froze in his throat as his hand froze on the doorknob. Kreacher was in the house – come to kill them all . . .

Summoning his courage despite his rising grief and anger, Harry wrenched open the door and froze at the sight of the wrinkled house-elf standing hunched at his feet . . . "Broke his mother's heart, but got his due didn't he Kreacher . . . " the elf muttered to himself.

"REMUS!" Harry cried, his voice echoing down the hall. The elf looked startled, but simply stated, "Harry Potter has returned . . ." while wearing a far from benevolent smile.

Remus appeared a moment later, sleep rumpled and clutching his wand. He spotted the source of Harry's distress immediately. "Kreacher! What do you think you're doing?" Remus demanded.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Remus held up his hand to stop him.

"Kreacher is closing windows from the rain," The elf said answered.

"Go to the kitchen and stay there." Remus' eyes flashed dangerously in the direction of the house-elf.

"Kreacher lives to serve," he muttered to no one in particular as he turned and headed back down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Remus?" Harry's eyes were wide asking far more than his mouth could manage.

"I know this is hard for you Harry, but the house and its servant were passed down to Tonks. As long as the property is inherited by a blood relative, the rest of Sirius' relatives cannot contest it. Kreacher . . . despite all out wishes comes as part of the package."

Harry was poised to speak, but Remus pressed on feeling the approach of the other occupants. They were all dressed in nightshirts and pyjamas rubbing sleep from their eyes.

"Kreacher has been given explicit orders . . . he will not be allowed to hurt any of us that enter or reside in this house or speak to or with anyone who doesn't reside here about its occupants or the activities that go on here. We all try to be as good to him as we can manage and I would appreciate you doing the same."

In shock, Harry stood staring without responding. His body grew more tense with every word. This must be a nightmare, he thought.

"Harry?" Remus tried to get his attention and regretted it once he had it. Harry's eyes hardened and his fists shook at his sides.

"That traitor . . . he . . . if it wasn't for him . . ." Harry's voice kept breaking as emotion stole his words. Finally, "He should be dead like Sirius is . . . aren't there rules against killing your master?!"

"Technically Kreacher didn't kill Sirius, despite his involvement." It pained Remus to have to defend the elf but he couldn't risk Harry doing anything he would regret later.

Harry simply couldn't believe the others had accepted the presence of the elf that had helped Voldemort kill his Godfather. He took a determined step in the direction the elf had traveled despite the fact that his wand still lay on the bedside table and was stopped by several pair of strong arms. "Killing a house-elf not belonging to you would mean a one way trip to Azkaban." Mr. Weasley's voice was calm as it echoed Remus' thoughts and Harry knew he was serious.

Harry tried his best to fight away from the hands that held him wanting to rage against anyone trying to stop him though he was still weak from his healing injuries. He would have sworn he heard a whisper accompanied by the tingle of magic before Remus addressed him again.

"Please, calm down. I don't want to have to give you a Sleeping Potion. Try to get some rest. We will discuss this more in the morning."

Harry relaxed, knowing he wouldn't feel safe taking a sleeping potion with Kreacher in the house. He yielded his struggles and was allowed to return to his bedroom where he locked the door behind him and doused the lamp.

"Sorry mate. I didn't think to warn you about Kreacher . . . I try to ignore him mostly."

Harry nodded though he wasn't sure that Ron could see it. He waited until he was sure his roommate was sound asleep before he lit a lamp and opened Hermione's Potions text. It wouldn't do to spend the night tossing and turning when there was something he could do to relax.

Mrs. Weasley had given him his Hogwarts letter and like Ron's it also listed a new Potions text. Whatever strings Professor McGonagall had pulled to allow him entry to the sixth-year Potions class Harry wasn't going to mess it up by being unprepared. He knew Snape would be waiting for any excuse to kick him out of class.

* * *

It was two days later that the Headmaster and Professor Snape visited Grimmauld Place for his first Occlumency lesson. Harry was thankful that they had allowed him some time to settle in before resuming the lessons. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Dumbledore had been there when he learned Kreacher was still occupying Grimmauld Place. As it was, he had managed to show some restraint, with Lupin's help, waiting till the treasonous house-elf was no longer in the area before he vented his rage. Remus and then later Mr. Weasley tried to explain again that Kreacher along with the house had been passed down to Sirius' cousin Tonks, but in his pain Harry couldn't fathom why the elf's head wasn't hanging on the wall beside his predecessors. Despite their claims that Kreacher had received far more specific restrictions, disallowing nearly everything not clearly defined as housework, Harry couldn't find it in his heart to trust the house-elf. He even went as far as having one more rule imposed, one that prevented Kreacher from entering or remaining alone in any room with him. It may have been a small measure of security but it made him feel a bit better all the same.

Harry did his best to avoid Kreacher, often spending the hours between lunch and dinner locked in his room reading. The time gave Harry a chance to study the book Hermione had bought him for his birthday: _The Secret Keeper's Guide to Occlumency_ by Ima Nott-Telling. The author had some interesting theories he hoped would help.

Once they were in the parlor behind locked doors Snape prepared to use his old tactics of attacking Harry before he was ready, but Dumbledore stopped him before the curse could leave his lips.

"Did you meditate in order to prepare your mind Harry?" The Headmaster asked.

"Yes Professor." Harry's calm facade did not fool Dumbledore.

"How do you feel? Calm?"

"He cannot be taught to protect his mind from the Dark Lord with you coddling him. He must prepare his mind for attack at all times." Snape could see that the Headmaster had no intention of allowing the lesson to proceed without interfering.

"I believe, Severus, that it will be easier for Harry to resist once he has experienced what a successful block is like. Your attack on an unprepared mind will not assist that. First, I would like Harry to experience the proper technique while prepared before having to block with less preparation."

"As you wish Headmaster."

Snape huffed impatiently and prepared to cast the curse but was interrupted once more by the Headmaster. "Harry, take a deep breath and let your thoughts escape with each breath, clearing your mind . . ."

Harry nodded absently, grateful for the additional moment to prepare.

The Professor looked coldly upon the Headmaster in askance of permission to continue and received a nod. "_Legilimens_!"

Harry shuddered briefly as he felt the other man's mind brush his . . . push his. At first all was quiet, the meditation having done its job, and Snape's mind moved back when Harry successfully fought the curse. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. As he tried to refocus for the attack he knew was sure to come, he heard Kreacher murmur in the hallway, "Mudbloods, Werewolves, disgusting . . ." The fine hairs stood on the back of his neck, just then the curse was cast again.

Harry could feel the memories begin pushing to the surface of his distracted mind starting as faint shadows and whispers as the room fell out of focus. He felt powerless to stop them . . .

He felt the cold chill of dementors as they surrounded the Leaky Cauldron . . . The joy of a summer flight stifled by the events that made it necessary . . . His own voice echoing in the atrium "_Crucio_!"

Snape jerked back abruptly and Harry hit the floor on his knees. The sudden withdrawal left him disoriented but aware of his failure. "You little fool! Do you know what you have done?!" Snape's voice was bitter as he berated his fallen student.

"Severus?" Dumbledore looked to Professor Snape, his eyes warning and questioning in equal measure.

"Do you think you are _SAFE _. . . that it will not _CHANGE_ you . . . if so, you are even more a fool than I dared suspect!"

"Severus, what is it?"

"You mean your _Golden Gryffindor _didn't tell you? He attempted to cast the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange that night at the Ministry." Snape was glaring at Harry despite the fact he was speaking to Dumbledore.

"Harry is this true?"

"It didn't work," Harry croaked feeling ashamed. "She said I didn't mean it enough . . . didn't _want_ to cause pain – to enjoy it . . ." His voice trailed off.

"I should certainly hope not." Snape spoke disdainfully at Harry as he picked himself up off the floor.

"A bit hypocritical of you, isn't it?" Harry blurted out the words before he could stop himself, which earned him a sneer from the Potions Master.

"Harry . . ." The Headmaster spoke with a calm he didn't feel. "Unforgivables are more than just another spell . . . they come at a cost, casting them changes the caster. Voldemort would relish those changes more than you can know . . . promise me that you won't attempt another."

Harry didn't want to break down in front of the Headmaster and even worse, Snape, but he felt his voice waiver slightly just the same. "I just . . . didn't know how else to fight her – to make her pay . . ." Harry's mind filled with memories of that night. That singsong voice taunting and goading him as he fought with his grief. A slow burn settled into his scar that he pretended not to notice.

"Vengeance is a bitter task for bitter people. It will stain your soul. I strongly advise against such pursuits in the future." Harry nodded as he stared at the floor. "I believe your lesson is through for the day. We have matters to discuss. If you see Remus, tell him I would like to speak with him." Harry took that for the dismissal it was and quietly exited the room.

He was grateful for the empty corridor as he turned and pressed his ear to the cool wood of the door.

". . . As much as I loath the idea of providing weapons to reckless Gryffindors, I see no other choice. Teach him something more appropriate for battling Death Eaters than Jelly-leggs hexes or Unforgivables . . ." There was a pause filled only with the sound of Snape's pacing.

"It is unfortunate when a sixteen-year-old boy must learn hexes more powerful than those customarily employed to prank their classmates."

There was another pause, a long one. Finally, "Then there is also the matter of his punishment – " before the sentence was finished, Harry heard footsteps approaching and had to leave or be discovered spying on the two professors. He desperately wanted to know what they planned to do as punishment for his attempt to cast an Unforgivable. Surely they wouldn't send him to Azkaban . . .

_tbc_ . . .

_Whomping Willow _


	12. Crime and Punishment

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow _

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

Chapter twelve: Crime and Punishment

* * *

It turned out that the owner of the approaching footsteps had conveniently been Remus Lupin. Harry promptly informed him of the Headmaster's request for his presence before he found his own way to a quiet place to think alone. He chose Sirius' old room for his escape and locked the door behind him. 

The room looked as though it hadn't been touched since Sirius' death, and probably hadn't. There were still odds and ends littering the bedside table as well as a robe that had been carelessly discarded over the arm of a chair. For a few moments the grief welled up threatening to choke him completely . . .

Harry knew he had made a mistake by casting the Cruciatus curse . . . after all it was classified as an Unforgivable for a reason.

The fake Professor Moody had taught his class about the Unforgivables in his fourth-year and had warned about the punishments for their use. Harry had felt the power of each of them when cast by Voldemort. He had experienced the pain of Cruciatus as well as having seen the results overexposure had left on Neville's parents. Moody had shown him how Imperious dulled the mind, how strong the urge was to give up control . . . and in a graveyard in Little Hangleton he had witnessed the absolute finality of the Killing Curse.

Sadly none of that had mattered to him when he was distraught over his godfather's death, and he hoped with all his heart that they wouldn't punish him too severely for his attack against Bellatrix.

Could his use of Dark Arts really change him, Harry wondered? Was that what made Snape such an utter prick and had corrupted Tom Riddle? Was the burning in his scar a result of the curse he had cast or was it simply more manipulations from Voldemort? Harry couldn't really answer any of the questions that were spinning in his head, but he didn't want to bring them to the attention of the Headmaster either. Perhaps if he was cautious and kept his mind clear the burning would subside and he wouldn't be forced to mention it. It only made sense to keep these things to himself considering how many secrets the Order had kept from him.

Decision made, Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and allowed the pleasant memories of his godfather to comfort him. At that moment the only thing he wanted more than Sirius back was to show Snape that he wasn't the errant child he had always accused him of being.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how many hours had passed since he began his meditation, but when the voices on the other side of the door startled him the room was bathed in the colors of sunset. He realized that Hermione and Ron were opening all the doors on the hallway most likely in search of him. Harry stood on shaky legs and shook the feeling back down to his feet. The tingling in his limbs was but one more sign of his lengthy meditation. When his hand finally rested on the doorknob, he found someone on the other side was turning the knob in an effort to open the locked door. Before they could mutter the unlocking charm, Harry opened the door startling his bushy-haired friend.

"Harry! We have been looking for you everywhere." Hermione's expression was somewhere between relief and frustration.

"I just needed some time to think about . . . things . . . is something wrong?" Harry wondered if this was a limited search inspired by concern or boredom or if something bad had happened.

"Professor Snape and Dumbledore left hours ago and no one knew where you had run off to. Remus was worried that you were upset . . . what happened in your Occlumency lesson?"

Ginny and the twins approached with jovial greetings. "Oh good, you found him. Now we can do some more exploring of the extra rooms. We didn't know how many hidden passages this place had until we had to search for you mate."

"Hidden passages? Brilliant!" Ron declared earning him an elbow to the ribs from Hermione.

"I know something happened Harry. You don't go running off for just any reason and Remus said you looked angry." Concern shown in Hermione's eyes as she waited for Harry's answer.

"Nothing I want to talk about." Harry knew Hermione wasn't likely to let it drop but he figured it was worth a try.

"I hope Snape isn't still in a snit over the beating you-know-who gave him after your escape . . . showed up in terrible shape he did . . . broke his nose and all," Fred and George volleyed back and forth.

As his eyes shifted from one face to another, Harry noted that they all wore matching expectant expressions. He had only just recently accepted what he had done in the Ministry atrium and hadn't prepared to share the knowledge with his friends yet, but perhaps it was better to get it off his chest now before Remus came to tell him of his punishment.

"Snape saw a memory he didn't like . . ." His voice trailed off and he tried to gather his courage. "I tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange." Harry finally blurted the words out in a rush.

He hoped his friends would leave it at that, but instead he was faced with his friends' stunned expressions and Ron's exclamation of, "Bloody Hell!"

"Harry!" Hermione scolded as she stammered in search of more appropriate words. "Harry that's an Unforgivable . . . how could you . . . what were you thinking?!"

"She killed Sirius . . . he was all I had left . . . what would you have done in my place?"

No one answered so Harry once again filled the silence. "It didn't work anyhow, but I guess that hardly makes a difference. They sent me away so they could discuss my punishment."

"What do you think Dumbledore will decide . . . I mean he wouldn't call the Ministry would he?" Hermione fidgeted nervously.

"I dunno, I'll have to wait and see . . ."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy breathed the stale air of his Master's study with care. The damp cells of Azkaban had left him with a slight phlegmy rattle in his chest as a last reminder of his stay that he'd yet to be rid of. Escaping past the Aurors that now guarded the accursed prison was not near the feat that it had been for Sirius Black to escape when it was occupied by dementors, but still he was proud to say he'd made it passed the guards with a little persuasion and was ready to rejoin his Master's service.

"Lucius, how good of you to come. How was Azkaban . . . less entertaining without the dementors I trust?" Voldemort's eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light of his study.

"Yes, My Lord. Without dementors Azkaban is merely a cold damp place to get together with old friends."

"Still I see you were eager to take your leave and return to my service . . . pity you were too late to aid in the attack on Potter's home . . ."

"Indeed it is my Lord. I trust you have a new plan to rid us of the boy-who-lived?" Lucius failed to bite back the cough that had been threatening to escape and now shook his entire body.

"Are you not well Lucius – do you require something . . . a potion perhaps?"

"You are most kind, My Lord. Perhaps a bit of tea would do the trick?" Lucius was glad to have found his master to be in a most amiable mood.

Voldemort snapped his fingers and a stocky young Death Eater Lucius didn't recognize arrived with hot tea.

"I see you have finally rid yourself of that worthless rat . . ."

"Yes, unfortunately Wormtail failed to return to me after he was punished for his last failure so I must make do with the fumbling of a new recruit. He is possessed of more enthusiasm than either skill or brains I am afraid . . . one of many reasons I am so pleased you have returned to me Lucius."

Lucius sincerely hoped the Dark Lord wasn't suggesting that he become his personal errand boy such as Wormtail had been. He hadn't botched things that severely at the Ministry surely. Lucius took his cup of off-colored tea and relished the warmth. He sipped cautiously at first and was pleased to find nothing more toxic than hastily steeped Earl Grey. Despite the taste the warm liquid was soothing enough to allow him to continue. He was most curious about his Lord's plans.

Voldemort frowned in distaste as he sipped the tea. Even Muggles would be more proficient at brewing pot of tea than this one. He discarded the tea and addressed Malfoy once more. "Due to recent failures I am keeping all details of my plan to subdue Potter to those I trust not to screw them up . . . namely me . . . suffice it to say the plan is progressing smoothly."

"That is excellent news, My Lord. I will be honored to assist you in anyway that I can."

"For now Lucius get yourself well. I cannot afford to have my most valuable weapons dull when I have need of them."

"I will see to it at once, My Lord." With that said he gladly abandoned the remainder of his tea and exited the stuffy chamber.

* * *

Harry's friends finally convinced him to leave his godfather's room in search of a late dinner considering he had barely picked at breakfast and missed lunch entirely. Being accustomed to the hollow ache in his stomach Harry had hardly noticed his hunger. If it wasn't for the twins, Harry would have turned back immediately when he noticed Remus mulling over a cup of tea at the far end of the scrubbed wooden table. Harry sat nervously for several moments before Remus looked at him with a vague expression.

Harry pondered for a moment if bezoars could form in human stomachs. He was sure he must have a stone of some sort in his gut causing the heavy ache that replaced his previous hunger. Ron passed Harry a Butter Beer which did more to occupy his hands than quench his thirst and he hoped that if Remus had any intention of speaking he would just hurry up and get it over with. Not that he was in any way eager to hear more condemning words . . . but strangely the silence was becoming even more ominous than Snape's words had been.

The plate Hermione pushed in front of him startled Harry into knocking over his mostly untouched Butter Beer, spilling its contents across the table. Cursing loudly Harry jumped from his seat before the spill could make its way to soak his clothes.

Remus approached Harry and rested a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "I think we'd better go talk before you manage to destroy Molly's kitchen."

Ignoring the attempt at humor, Harry nodded dumbly and followed Remus, receiving a reassuring pat on his back from Ron as he left. Remus led him to the parlor where his Occlumency lesson had taken place earlier that morning. Harry did his best to make himself comfortable though Remus stood stiffly.

Finally, pacing quietly in front of where Harry sat fidgeting on an old leather sofa, Remus broke the silence with a clear voice. "You are growing into a very powerful wizard Harry and that in itself can lead you into dangerous situations with difficult decisions to make. I must admit that I cannot blame you for your choice of curses . . . there is only one thing that kept me from doing the same thing myself . . ."

Harry was surprised by the confession, meeting his former professor's eyes for the first time that day he saw the pain they held.

"I wanted to chase after her – curse her into oblivion. That bloody witch deserves anything I can cast, but I needed to be there for you Harry . . . and if I cast an Unforgivable on Bellatrix I would be on my way to Azkaban. That is a risk Sirius wouldn't want either of us to take just to avenge his death. I promised that if anything happened to Sirius I would take care of you as best as I can which isn't nearly as good as you deserve . . ."

"I'm sixteen I don't need . . ." Harry started to object, wanting to remind his former professor that he was no longer a child.

"I know you are getting a bit old for guardians and all that, but could you humor me. Sirius didn't want you to go through this alone, and neither do I."

Harry realized that it wasn't as much about him needing someone to watch over him as it was about Remus needing to hold on to the last connection he had with his dearest friends. He was all that was left of the legacy of the Marauders and considering all that had been taken from him Harry was hardly about to do the same to another. Remus was surprised when Harry approached putting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you're right, you're never too old for some things," Harry finally choked out. Remus pulled Harry into a hug and promised that he would do everything he could to influence Dumbledore and Snape toward leniency.

"You mean they haven't decided yet?"

"No, Dumbledore had a few matters he needed to look into before coming to a final decision. He'll be back tomorrow. I think you should also be prepared for another Occlumency lesson again just in case."

"Why . . . Snape still thinks I'm hiding more secrets?"

"No Harry. Actually the Headmaster said that you had greatly improved, and it wasn't until something distracted you, that Professor Snape was able to enter your mind. He wants you to focus more on controlling your level of focus throughout the day."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. Had he really improved that much, he wondered.

"I want you to know that although I was surprised I understand why you did it, but that doesn't mean you can do it again. As I am sure you have been told, Dark Magic comes at a cost . . . I'm sure Sirius would have said that it's what has made Snape what he is today, but I am no authority on what makes Snape tick like your godfather was." Remus winked assuring Harry that there was no true authority on what made Snape . . . Snape.

Harry spent the hours between dinner and bed rereading the more pertinent sections of his Occlumency book. Not that he really felt it would make that much of a difference but he had to focus his attention on something besides his meeting with the Headmaster. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours which made all attempts to keep his mind clear difficult, but he managed to avoid any unwanted visitors.

The next morning Harry was tired and anxious. He watched in silence from the stairway when the Headmaster arrived, looking for any sign of the wizard's decision. Harry was surprised when Professor Snape failed to arrive, but he was told that his Professor had another obligation arise unexpectedly. That meant he would be spared the Occlumency lesson and only had to worry about his impending punishment. When tea was ready and Harry had made his presence known they proceeded to the parlor and were joined by Remus.

"I'm sorry that Professor Snape couldn't join us today but I could not in all good conscience delay this meeting any longer." Although Dumbledore wasn't avoiding eye contact Harry was still filled with a feeling of dread and swallowed thickly as his mouth went dry.

Remus poured him more tea as Dumbledore carried on. "I had a meeting with Minister Fudge yesterday after I left here."

Harry's heart started pounding loudly giving him proof that it hadn't stopped like it felt it surely should have. Dumbledore couldn't have told Fudge . . . could he?

"No need to fear Harry, we didn't speak of anything more than your safety. Despite the severity of what you did we will not be mentioning anything that happened between you and Bellatrix to the Ministry . . . understood?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and he was suddenly aware of how tightly he had been griping the armrests. He flexed his fingers to relieve the tension and replied. "Yes, Sir."

"Good – good . . . now there is only the matter of your punishment. First, you will not be permitted to partake in Hogsmeade weekends this year, without exception. Also you will not be permitted to join your friends when they visit Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies. And finally you have been assigned a Ministry _guard_ for lack of a better term . . . to ensure your safety during the school year."

"Guard? You think I need a guard?" Harry forgot any objections he may have had about being denied access to Hogsmeade. After his experiences with Umbridge the fear of who the Ministry would assign to watch him was understandable.

"The Minister feels that, after the events of this summer and previous years, your life is in danger and would be remiss if it did not provide you with at least a small measure of protection. He will also be tutoring you in Defense. I was allowed access to the candidates' files and approved of the Minister's choice if not the necessity."

Harry relaxed at those words. The Headmaster didn't think he needed a babysitter but had only consented due to Fudge's desire to compensate for his earlier incompetence.

"His name is Janus Henniker. Perhaps you remember him, Remus?"

"Henniker . . . Wasn't he in Hufflepuff a couple of years behind me?"

"Ah good you do remember."

Remus chuckled and shook his head. "How could I not? He nearly took James' head off with a bludger seventh year and spent the rest of the term apologizing."

"I had nearly forgotten about that." Dumbledore's voice was full of mirth and Harry was happy to see the twinkle return to the headmaster's eyes for a moment before he became serious again. "Of course you were my first choice Remus, but the Ministry still refuses to see reason."

Remus nodded silently wishing once again that things could be different.

"The Minister also insisted that the DA be disbanded due to the assignment of a competent Defense professor . . . however he has seen no reason not to revoke your Quidditch ban."

Harry felt torn. Although he was happy to be allowed back on the Quidditch team, he would miss the clandestine classes in the room of Requirement. With a sad smile he responded, "Guess I'll need a new broom."

"Actually I don't believe that will be necessary," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I hope Hagrid will forgive me for spoiling his secret. He came to me this morning to tell me that Grawp found your broom in the Forbidden forest."

"My broom is okay?" Harry gasped in shock.

"Perhaps in need of a bit of polish, but it is otherwise game-ready."

It was really an odd day. Harry felt uneasy as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. His punishment was far milder than anything he could have imagined. "So that's all . . . no Diagon Alley, no Hogsmeade and I'm stuck with a bodyguard?"

"Did you want more? Perhaps Professor Snape . . ." Harry cut Dumbledore off mid-sentence.

"No! I just wanted to be sure that was all of it . . . no surprises."

"That is all of it Harry. You will meet Mister Henniker at King's Cross where he will accompany you to Hogwarts. I'm afraid the Ministry is worried about a possible attack at the station."

"Do you think that Voldemort would attack the train?" Remus asked looking more than a bit worried.

"No, I do not . . . the Ministry however is taking any and all threats seriously . . . for once."

When Harry was finally dismissed, he went in search of his friends. He only paused for the briefest of knocks outside the bedroom door before he entered and began to rattle off his news to the startled couple.

"So the Minister has assigned you a body guard?" Ron interrupted.

"Yea, but that's not all . . . the DA will have to disband."

"What?!" Ron and Hermione both looked stunned.

"I guess Fudge is still nervous about the whole _Dumbledore's Army _thing. When Dumbledore pushed hard for his choice of Defense Professor this year, Fudge made sure that it was a trade . . . the DA for Dumbledore's choice of Professor."

"Dumbledore must be confident in his choice of Professor to make that kind of deal." Hermione looked disappointed and Harry guessed that she had spent at least part of the summer researching new spells to teach when the school year resumed.

"You won't be able to have any fun this year Harry, with a Ministry bodyguard hanging over your shoulder." Shaking his head sadly, Ron thought of how hard it would be, leaving his friend behind again like in their third-year.

"Ron, I think Harry's safety is far more important than trips to Hogsmeade or midnight runs to the kitchens. It sounds to me like Dumbledore is trying to protect Harry more than punish him."

No one could argue with Hermione's logic.

"There is good news as well. The Quidditch ban has been lifted _and_ Hagrid found my broom. So if the team will have me . . ." Ron interrupted before Harry even finished the sentence, near bursting with excitement.

"Are you kidding?! Of course we'll have you! You're the best Seeker in all of Hogwarts. I know Ginny won't mind either. She'd rather be Chaser anyway."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how irrational it seemed, Harry had feared that the team wouldn't want him back.

"Do you think you or your mum could pick up my supplies when you go to Diagon Alley?"

"Of course, Harry. It's a shame you won't be there to see Fred and George's shop though . . . I know they are eager for you to see where they are spending most of their time. Maybe Dumbledore will change his mind . . ."

"Ron, Harry got off easy . . . no offense Harry, but you could have had a lot worse punishment."

Harry knew Hermione was right, but Ron saw it as a great injustice and was still muttering about how unfair it was a week later when Mrs. Weasley gathered everyone together for the trip to Diagon Alley.

While everyone else was visiting the shops and enjoying ice-cream Harry was having yet another Occlumency lesson with his Professors. The lessons had steadily improved since his first attempt of the summer and Harry was even getting better at keeping his emotions in check, even in Kreacher's presence. He finished his lessons feeling generally tired and satisfied at his accomplishments, instead of with sore knees and a burning scar.

Professor Snape left as soon as the lesson was over not looking any more pleased with Harry's performance than he had been in the previous year however Dumbledore was beaming.

"Excellent work Harry. You are improving greatly."

Harry smiled at the praise and wished it had been this way the previous year when it could have prevented his godfather's death.

Dumbledore sensing the reason for his faltering smile added, "the key to happiness is knowing what we can change and learning to accept what we cannot. As painful as losing Sirius was for all of us, it could have been worse."

Harry looked up sharply, too stunned to hide his glare.

"If Sirius had been found by Aurors in the Ministry, he would have been delivered back to the dementors. He would have received the kiss long before Pettigrew could be found. At least this way Sirius is at peace."

In all of his contemplation Harry had never thought of it that way before. He knew in his heart for the first time in months that the Headmaster was right. As hard as it was for Harry, it was by far better for Sirius. It was said after all that the kiss was a horrendous way to go . . . existing as a soulless mockery of life. Harry wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Suddenly Harry felt the need to change the subject.

"I've been wanting to ask you about the new Defense professor . . ." Harry started awkwardly.

"Ah well, I do suppose there is no harm in you knowing, now that it is official . . . Professor Snape will be taking over the position of Defense Professor, and I am sure he will do a commendable job."

Harry's mouth hung open for a moment. His least loved professor would be teaching his favorite class and he had traded the DA for _that_? A groan finally made its way past his lips.

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "I know what you're thinking Harry and I believe if you give him a chance Professor Snape will surprise you. He is an effective teacher, and will be able to make up for what the previous professors lacked."

Harry quickly compared his past professors against what he knew of Snape in his mind and bit his tongue to prevent himself from voicing the results. He knew Dumbledore trusted Snape and it would be pointless to speak ill of him to the Headmaster. He rose from his seat and prepared to go. Dumbledore however had one more thing to add.

"I also believe Mister Henniker is a fair choice as your guard and tutor and may be able to assist you in preparation for Auror training . . . however I believe it would be advisable to remain cautious in what information you disclose."

"Of course sir, I understand." Harry was well aware that an off hand comment could endanger many of his friends.

Peering over his half-moon glasses, the Headmaster replied. "Be sure that you do."

That statement unnerved Harry and he was glad when he was finally out of the room and on his way to see if everyone was back from Diagon Alley. He was eager to share what he had learned about their new Defense professor.

When he entered the room that he shared with Ron he was surprised to find Ron, Hermione and Ginny all whispering nervously. It only added to his suspicion when they all looked to him wearing matching expressions.

"What?" Harry asked immediately. "What happened?"

"Lucius Malfoy . . ." Ginny managed to squeak before her brother's glare silenced her.

Harry held back a shudder at the name. "Malfoy . . . what about him?"

"Harry, we know why the Ministry insisted on you having a guard. Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban. There were wanted posters up all over the alley."

Hermione was right. It was making sense. Malfoy would be anxious to get back in his master's good graces after his failure at the Ministry and delivering his nemesis to him would be the best way to accomplish that task.

"The papers are having a field day mocking the inefficiency of Aurors in comparison to dementors as guards of Azkaban. Kind of pointless really . . . not like they can get the dementors back."

"I wish they could . . . I don't like knowing that they are roaming about looking for souls." Ron made himself shudder.

Harry distracted himself with his own news. "Hey guys, I almost forgot my news. You'll never guess who is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year . . ."

Harry's less than joyous expression told them that it certainly wasn't going to be Remus or even Tonks. No guesses followed.

"I'll give you a hint . . . who is the worst person you can think of to teach Defense?" adding as an afterthought, "besides Umbridge or Voldemort?"

"No!" Ron choked. "He can't. He's got Potions already. He can't teach both!"

"Professor Snape? Tell me you are joking . . ." Ginny said following her brother's words.

"Yes, Snape . . . and Dumbledore had to pull a lot of strings to get him into the position so he must've really wanted him for some reason." Harry could feel his friends' dismay.

Ron joked mirthlessly. "Which is he going to teach Dark Arts or the Defense against?"

"What about Potions . . . ? He can't teach both . . ." Hermione was fairly sure that Fudge was far too suspicious of Snape to allow him access to a Time Turner.

"I don't know who'll be teaching Potions. I forgot to ask. That may explain why we were admitted into the N.E.W.T.S. level class though."

That gave them all something to think about. Hermione worried about how it would affect her grades and Harry wondered what this would do to his chances of becoming an Auror. It may help his Potions grade, but that would be pointless if his Defense grade suffered instead. They would know soon enough as September first was drawing near and they all were compelled to spend the little time they had left with their new books.

_tbc_ . . .


	13. Trains, Portkeys and Automobiles

First Steps

by: _Whomping Willow _

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

Chapter thirteen: Trains, Portkeys and Automobiles

* * *

Finally the big day had arrived. The frantic packing that proceeded every term at Hogwarts hadn't diminished despite the fact that there was two less students leaving. Fred and George, much to their mother's dismay had refused the Headmaster's offer to allow them to return and finish out their seventh-year, preferring to focus their energies on their booming business. Still, they didn't miss the opportunity to remind their little brother to give the Slytherins a hard time in their honor.

Mrs. Weasley having overheard her sons' conversation promised a Howler that Ron would never forget if he did anything foolish that would endanger him and his friends. It was obvious that she was still recovering from their involvement in the incident at the Ministry. She cared for Harry like another son and was worried what sort of danger he and Ron would be facing this year. She was far from oblivious to the danger and wanted to keep them all safe.

Ron knew of the rising threat as well. He had heard from his father that there had been much debate over the safest way to get Harry to King's Cross. Now that Voldemort's return had been accepted by the Ministry it seemed that officials were torn between what had been deemed safe enough in the past and trying something out of the ordinary in order to minimize the risks.

It was finally settled that they would be driving to King's Cross in a Ministry car. Although it had been done before, it provided Harry with a measure of security without denying him the trip on the train with the other students.

Mrs. Weasley made a huge breakfast and insisted that everyone have second helpings. Ginny laughed and promised her mother that they did still feed them at Hogwarts. Her feisty mother didn't miss a beat, "they may feed you, but this is my last opportunity to do so till the winter holidays and I want to be sure you eat your fill."

"Mum I've eaten enough to last me till our next visit. If I eat any more, I won't fit in the car." Ron was leaning back in his chair rubbing his stomach for emphasis.

Finally Mrs. Weasley was satisfied. If Ron was full that surely meant that the others were as well. "Very well dears, gather your trunks the Ministry car will be here shortly."

Harry had never heard more welcome words in his life. He was more eager to leave the Black estate than ever before and secretly hoped that Kreacher would suffer a horrible accident long before he returned. Despite his best efforts to avoid Kreacher, Harry still had the misfortune of running into him in the oddest of places. The house-elf didn't need to do anything more than exist to cause Harry discomfort. He was a constant reminder of one of his worst mistakes . . . one where someone he loved paid for his error in judgment.

When all the trunks were piled near the front door, Mr. Weasley arrived and informed them that the car was ready. Hedwig looked nearly as eager to leave as Harry and hooted happily while Crookshanks sat with Hermione cleaning his whiskers. Pulling their trunks along behind them, Ginny and the trio followed Mr. Weasley to the car. Thanks to expansion charms the four trunks as well as their collection of animals fit as neatly inside as did the four friends. Remembering so many journeys in the past Mr. Weasley felt the need to ask, "has anyone forgotten anything before we get rolling?"

A chorus of voices all surprisingly answered "no" and made Mr. Weasley laugh. "All right then, everybody in."

As Harry started to pull the door shut, a hand grabbed it firmly holding it open. Harry looked out to see Dumbledore beckoning him out of the car.

"I need to speak with you back in the house." Dumbledore spoke without his normal joviality and Harry found it unsettling.

Despite his nerves, Harry followed the Headmaster back into the old house and was greeted warmly by Tonks.

"Wotcha Harry."

"Hey Tonks. Er . . . what's going on." Harry did little to conceal the nervousness from his voice.

"It's nothing to be alarmed about, Harry . . . just a precautionary measure. Tonks, if you would please? There's not much time."

Tonks nodded in consent and her pink hair began turning black. As the transformation took place, Dumbledore explained the plan while Harry shifted his gaze between him and Tonks. "One of the drivers at the Ministry was overheard bragging about getting to drive you to the station this morning . . . as a precautionary measure Tonks will be taking your place in the car."

Harry looked again to the young Auror and found himself looking at a perfect copy of himself as though he were standing in front of a mirror. Tonks winked, which Harry found to be an odd expression on his face. A quick flick of her wand and she held a pair of spectacles that matched his own. Harry noticed that she had forgone the Weird Sisters T-shirt, wearing instead a plain blue one paired with loose jeans that wouldn't look out of place in his wardrobe. Dumbledore looked her over and nodded his approval.

Dismissed, Tonks made her way out to the waiting car to the seat Harry had vacated.

"Don't worry Harry. Tonks is more than capable of protecting your friends if Death Eaters were to attack, which is highly unlikely. As for you, I have arranged for Moody to accompany you to King's Cross by Portkey."

Harry looked awestruck. "My friends are at risk and you are shuffling me off to safety . . . why couldn't they come with me and Moody?! What is the point?!"

Dumbledore let out a sigh and toyed with his beard for a moment. "The risk to your friends and Ms. Tonks is very slight. However, the risk to my source is far greater. I'm afraid if your travel plans were entirely changed there would be very few wizards to point the finger at as the source of the warning and could cost him his life."

"You mean Snape." It was a statement, not a question.

"Truthfully, no . . . I _do_ have other sources of information. The Boar's Head for instance can be a great place to overhear and be overheard as you already know . . ."

"That's the truth Potter. Best you listen to the Headmaster and keep your nose outa there." Mad-Eye looked as gruff as ever, limping over to stand at his side.

"I learned my lesson last year . . . besides, I'm not even allowed into Hogsmeade this year." Harry had a feeling that the conversation was intended to keep his mind off his friends traveling their way to King's Cross without him, still it was grating on his nerves.

"Harry, I hope you realize that the Hogsmeade restriction is primarily for your own protection. Hogwarts is warded to keep out many foreseeable threats, unfortunately those wards do not extend to Hogsmeade." As much as Dumbledore knew Harry was likely to resent the additional security he didn't feel it was right to conceal it under the guise of punishment.

"Yes, sir. I was well aware . . . I just didn't think you'd admit it." Harry knew he was pushing his luck being disrespectful to the Headmaster in front of Moody and it wasn't long before he was reprimanded.

"Watch your tongue Potter, he's still your Headmaster if you've forgotten."

Moody stared at Harry for a long moment before Harry spoke again. "I'm sorry sir. Perhaps we should get going."

"Very well, apology accepted. I'll see you tonight at the welcoming feast." Dumbledore handed the Portkey to Harry whose hand was joined by Moody's a moment before they disappeared . . .

. . . A sudden tug behind his navel was followed by the sense of rushing and a moment later they appeared near the train behind the magical barrier of platform nine and three-quarters. Harry would have landed hard if it wasn't for Moody grabbing his shoulder to steady him.

It was early and the train station was still quiet. Harry scanned the faces of those students he could see, knowing that it hadn't been near enough time for his friends to have arrived, but still part of him was trying to be optimistic. As much as Harry wanted to wait near the barrier for his friends Mad-Eye insisted that he get settled in a compartment . . . after all it wouldn't due to have anyone see two Harry Potters.

It was still well before eleven and most of the compartments were yet to be claimed, but they were looking for one of few occupied compartments. Mr. Henniker was supposed to be meeting them and Mad-Eye was in no mood to leave Harry until his guard had been found. Moody confirmed Harry's suspicions that Henniker was in fact an Auror, on temporary special assignment, but had little else to say about the man. It seemed they had traveled the entire length of the train twice having knocked on doors and interrupted an amorous couple or two before they finally found the Ministry assigned guard. Harry entered the compartment after Mad-Eye.

"There you are Henniker. I was beginning to think you were late." Moody didn't wait for a response before introducing Harry. "This is Harry Potter. Best you take good care of him or I'll be separating you from your hide personally."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the protective gesture from the gruff old Auror.

"I assure you that I have no intention of allowing any ill to befall Mr. Potter. His safety is my sole concern." Finally turning to face Harry he presented his hand, "it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance Mr. Potter."

Henniker had big hands with short fingers that dwarfed Harry's in comparison. Shaking the hand Harry grimaced at the tight grip that was warm and slightly damp, before gratefully being released.

"Sorry to have to run boys, but Dumbledore is expecting me back. Take care of yourself Potter." The words were no sooner out of his mouth then Moody was shutting the door leaving Harry and Mr. Henniker alone.

Harry took the opportunity to examine Mr. Henniker as he watched brown eyes flick briefly to his scar and back down to meet his eyes. Harry wasn't sure what he had expected Mr. Henniker to look like, but he was relieved when he saw he wasn't going to be guarded by someone who dressed like Gilderoy Lockhart. His robes were subdued, and cut with enough room for dueling without being bulky. He was taller though stockier than Ron who'd had yet another substantial growth spurt over the summer, and held himself with a relaxed formality. Harry had already heard enough about the other wizard to predict the words before they left his mouth.

"You look so much like your father, but I guess you hear that a lot."

Shifting nervously under Henniker's gaze Harry responded, "yeah, er – thanks . . ."

Harry wasn't comfortable enough in the other man's presence to allow himself to be completely distracted, but worry for his friends was tangible. He knew Dumbledore said they would be safe but somehow that was less comforting now than it would have been in the past. He sat near the window facing so he could watch the approaching students and Henniker mirrored his position.

"I've heard so much about you . . ." Henniker started attempting to bring Harry's mind back to the here and now.

"All good I hope . . ." Harry added cheekily knowing full well what kind of things people in the Ministry heard about him from the Minister as well as outside sources such as Rita Skeeter.

Smiling, Henniker nodded. "But of course . . . though your marvelous sense of humor is rarely mentioned." His tone held hints of sarcasm.

The attempt at humor startled a chuckle out of Harry prompting him to relax a bit. "Sorry, I'm just a bit anxious to see my friends."

If the Auror thought that suspicious considering their planned mode of transport, he didn't mention it instead he began to natter on about how eager he had always been to meet up with his friends at the summer's end.

The sound of voices outside their compartment slowly increased as the train filled with students and Harry was relieved when Ron, Hermione and Tonks hustled through the door dragging Hedwig and his trunk behind. The Auror looked from one Harry to the other in confusion rising from his seat as the door was closed and locked.

Tonks shifted back to herself, bubble-gum pink hair and all. "No offense Harry, but I'm glad I don't have to be you all the time."

Henniker was startled by the sudden transformation.

"What happened?" Harry asked nervously.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other and shrugged. "Nothing unusual," they said together.

"You have to put up with that staring everywhere you go?" Tonks sounded a bit sorry for Harry and he didn't want her pity.

"No, I'm sure it was just because of the attack at the Dursleys'. They're just warming up to ask me about it later." Harry's voice was far more cheerful than he felt while contemplating the questions to come. Noticing the time, Harry warned Tonks that she'd best get off the train while it was still parked at the station or she would be in for a long trip to Hogwarts.

Realizing he was right, she gave Harry a quick warning to stay safe and was on her way.

"Excellent security measures, I must commend the Headmaster for that," said Henniker drawing the attention back to himself.

Remembering the room's other occupant, Harry quickly made introductions. "Mr. Henniker this is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." Harry paused before adding, ". . . where's Ginny?"

"She's saving us seats together in the Prefects car . . . but we'll be back to visit later, promise." Hermione looked apologetic even though she was sure Harry understood.

Ron also promised to return shortly as he shook feeling back to his fingers after receiving one of Henniker's firm handshakes. Harry tried to remember being told about Ginny making Prefect. Not that it mattered if he'd been overlooked, but he did want to congratulate her when he saw her next.

As soon as the train started moving Hermione and Ron left to join Ginny in the Prefects car leaving him once again alone with Henniker. Harry was a bit nervous around the Auror though he couldn't put a finger on what it was that made him uneasy. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that Fudge, who had (with Dumbledore's approval) assigned Henniker to this duty, was the same man responsible for providing Umbridge the power to terrorize the school last year. That knowledge alone kept Harry from being comfortable alone with him and he was relieved when Neville entered the compartment followed shortly by Luna.

Neville confessed that he'd been terribly worried about Harry during his short disappearance and that his grandmother had stuck close to the Wizard's Wireless Network for up to the minute reports. Harry could tell he wanted to hear the real story about what happened and hoped that he wouldn't mind waiting until later.

Luna was holding a copy of the Quibbler, but hadn't yet opened it. "I was out of the country with my father when reports of the attack reached us. By the time we heard any details you were already back to safety."

"How did the safari go?" Harry asked suddenly curious and eager to get off the subject of his summer activities.

"It was marvelous. We saw lots of tracks and even heard a few specimens but sadly no clear sightings." Luna still had that dreamy look in her eyes though it seemed to Harry that she was being cautious with her words in the presence of someone from the Ministry and he hoped that Neville had the sense to do the same. Harry didn't know how much Henniker knew about the DA and his new restrictions, and he certainly didn't want to give Fudge any more info than he already possessed.

To be safe Harry decided it would be best to get Mr. Henniker talking about himself to limit the possibility of Neville bringing up tricky subjects.

They found that Henniker was eager to speak of his accomplishments both in the Ministry and on the Quidditch pitch and had many interesting stories to tell. He'd been training as an Auror when Harry had banished You-Know-Who and claimed he'd even been allowed to visit Godric's Hollow well after the event.

That lead Harry down a morbid line of thinking . . . Was the Dursleys' house going to join the Potter's home in some sort of twisted tour . . . _'the who, what and where of Magical attacks and calamities'_ . . . Would they charge admission and sell souvenirs . . . would there be a sign showing the spot where Voldemort stood when he cast the killing curse on his parents or just where Harry was found when he became the boy-who-lived?

It took several tries for Neville to shake Harry from his ruminations. When he did, Harry was surprised to see Henniker, wand in hand, preparing to check Harry for signs of hexes.

Harry assured them that his mind had just wandered and left off the fact that his scar was beginning to ache. He ordered Pumpkin juice and a few Chocolate Frogs from the cart though he wasn't hungry and was relieved when Henniker started talking again. It was going to be a long trip.

Harry spent what seemed like hours alternately listening to Henniker's stories of his past adventures and trying to avoid answering his questions. Taking Dumbledore's warning about disclosure seriously, he worded his answers carefully when talking about what had happened with Professor Quirrell in his first-year.

"I will promise you Mr. Potter, you will be safe from your professors this year." Henniker wore a smug smile that made Harry wonder what the other man was up to.

"Do you know who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Neville asked no one in particular, but Henniker chose to answer.

"Professor Snape has been assigned that position . . . it's such a shame about Professor Umbridge . . ." Before he could finish that thought the door was flung open. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway as haughty as ever.

"Well, well . . . if it isn't Harry Potter back again for another year. Even cats run out of lives eventually Potter." Draco's sneer didn't falter even when Henniker rose from his seat.

"Was that a threat . . . Mr. Malfoy? That's right, no need to ask who you are . . . So much like your father. Don't worry . . . we'll have him back in Azkaban soon enough." Harry was starting to appreciate Fudge's choice of guard and his lack of subtlety.

"And who are you, another of Potter's fan club?"

Harry noticed Crabbe and Goyle inching a bit closer to Malfoy as his hand clutched his wand.

The action didn't go unnoticed. "The name is Janus Henniker and I advise you to take your hand off your wand . . . I hate filling out _accident_ reports for the Ministry." Malfoy paled slightly.

"He's an Auror here to guard Harry so . . ." Whatever else Neville was going to say was interrupted by Harry's elbow, but it was too late.

Draco didn't look intimidated at all. "Ooh, Potter's got a bodyguard . . . how sweet . . ."

"And I suppose you call those brainless lumps of flesh beside you your friends?" Henniker managed to keep a straight face, but the rest of them struggled to conceal giggles and then laughter that didn't die till long after Draco had left, slamming the door on his way out.

Hermione and Ron entered soon after wondering what had caused Malfoy to storm into the Prefects car fuming followed by an apologetic Crabbe and Goyle. It took Harry and Henniker both to tell the story though Luna injected a few of her own observations when they were interrupted by fits of giggles that left Ron disappointed that he'd missed it. Hermione however was concerned. She didn't think it was good to get Malfoy riled up so soon into the year, but even Neville was too distracted to worry about it at the moment.

By the time the train pulled into the station in Hogsmeade they were all changed into their robes and eager to make their way to the carriages. The familiar voice calling "Firs' years" made Harry change directions for a brief side trip. He easily found Hagrid in a group of first-years and gave him a quick thanks and promised to visit him soon as possible.

When Harry rejoined his friends, Henniker's eyes were narrowed, his expression scolding. "And where did you run off to?"

"I just needed to thank Hagrid for finding my broom . . . I was only gone a minute." Harry wondered what the fuss was about.

"One minute is all it takes sometimes Mr. Potter . . . remember that. Now come on or you'll be late for the feast." Ushering Harry to the nearest carriage, Henniker took a moment to enjoy the memories that washed over him, the joys of returning to Hogwarts.

Harry fingered the memory orb in his robe pocket. He hadn't dared to pack it away in his trunk even before he knew it would be going by car without him. Even without being able to see the images on its surface he still enjoyed the comfort of the precious gift in his palm. Ginny nudged Harry curious about what had made him smile so suddenly. He answered pulling the orb out of his pocket just enough for her to see the object though it was too dark to make out the images. She smiled back and he leaned over and quietly congratulated her on her status as Prefect. Unfortunately Ron overheard and his ears reddened immediately.

"I can't believe I forgot to tell you mate. I guess I figured that you'd hear mum's scream no matter where you were."

Ginny giggled at her brother's words and reminded Ron, to the amusement of all, that she not only screamed but cried and danced as well.

It was nice to make their way to the castle in laughter. Just the year before Harry had been so preoccupied with what was pulling their carriage that he'd payed little attention to anything else. This year was going to be different and he could feel it in his bones.

When the carriage stopped Henniker helped the ladies out before joining Harry where he stood stroking one of the thestrals. Harry was sure that it was the one that had brought him battered and feverish to Hogwarts. He remembered asking for Hogsmeade and in its wisdom it had brought hin to Hogwarts instead. That decision kept him safe from dementors once again and he was grateful. He whispered a brief thanks as blank eyes stared in his direction and was surprised to receive a jerky nod in return before he turned and followed his friends up the stairs and into the Great Hall.

Before Harry could set foot into the Great Hall, he was stopped by the familiar voice barking his name. "Mr. Potter!" Harry turned to see Snape standing stiffly several paces away. The students were carefully parting around him not wanting to get between the angry Professor and his chosen prey. "I'd like a word with you." Harry turned to Henniker and his friends to let them know he would meet them inside, but Snape had other ideas. "And bring your _guard _with you . . ." Snape turned sharply and stormed down a nearby corridor.

"Guess word travels fast," Harry muttered before following Professor Snape away from the crowd of students down an empty corridor and into an unused classroom. He was surprised at how closely Henniker stuck to his side. The dusty room fell silent once the door slammed shut behind them.

"Mr. Potter, I shall warn you once and only once . . . your _guard_ has been assigned for your protection and your protection only . . . NOT for you to use to threaten the other students or to interfere with the duties of the faculty. Am I making myself clear?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but Henniker's voice was what he heard. "If you are referring to the incident on the train then I did nothing more than defend Mr. Potter against young Mr. Malfoy's threats. Perhaps you should be teaching your Slytherins manners instead of hexes."

"How bold of you to lecture me on manners Mr. Henniker . . . since you interrupted let me be the first to congratulate you on finally gathering the courage to return to retake your N.E.W.T.S. . . . Perhaps after you eradicate your abysmal scores you will be qualified for a respectable job."

Harry watched as Henniker's face grew red.

"You believe there is a more important task than bringing down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Or is it protecting the Boy-Who-Lived that you believe to believe to be fruitless . . ."

Snape never got the opportunity to answer. The door flew open and Professor Trelawney stepped in. "Oh – Mr. Potter I am so glad I found you. I came to warn you . . ." Her voice drifted off as she noticed the other occupants of the room. Drawing her wand and pointing it in Mr. Henniker's direction, a thought struck. "Severus, why aren't you defending Potter against the intruder?"

"Perhaps you should leave the subject of Divination to Firenze, surely he couldn't possess less talent . . ." Snape's words struck the Divinations Professor like a fist, leaving her gaping like a fish.

Harry attempted to diffuse the situation, "Professor Trelawney, this is Mr. Henniker. He is my guard," he finished awkwardly. He hated admitting that the Ministry thought he wasn't capable of keeping himself out of danger . . . he had after all avoided every attempt on his life so far, but confessing the truth about his punishment would be far worse.

"Well – ah . . . of course he is. The Ministry is taking my warning seriously then, very good . . . but you have no reason to be missing the Sorting Ceremony. Come along Mr. Potter, you wouldn't want to miss the feast as well."

Harry was thinking that Trelawney needed to have the prescription on her glasses checked because it was obvious that her inner-eye was a bit out of focus. Still, he was glad to have any excuse to join his friends. He followed the Professor out of the classroom and could vaguely hear applause that meant they were surely missing the Sorting Ceremony again.

Professor Snape exited the room and stalked by them quickly toward the Great Hall as Henniker rested a hand on Harry's arm to indicate he should stop. Once Snape was out of ear shot he asked, "Does he always treat you like that Mr. Potter?"

"Not really, sometimes he can be quite unfriendly." He shot Henniker a cheeky grin and hoped he would leave it at that.

"It is such a pity that Professor Umbridge couldn't return this year . . . last year's O.W.L. scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts were the highest in over a decade."

Harry's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe that anyone was foolish enough to believe that Umbridge had done any good for Hogwarts. Harry wanted to correct the misinformed Auror, but remembered the Headmaster's warning not to disclose too much. Instead, Harry bit his tongue hard and resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a long painful year.

_tbc_ . . .

Thanks once again for the reviews they help to keep me focused.


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